


Papa Don't Preach

by sparrowshellcat



Series: Avengers-Having-Babies [5]
Category: Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, Deadpool - All Media Types, Fantastic Four (Movieverse), The Avengers (2012), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M, Mpreg, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 65,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowshellcat/pseuds/sparrowshellcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be a simple mission, investigate Magneto and his enticing invitation for Logan. But it was naturally a trap, and some mutants cause very unexpected side effects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Epiphanyx7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/gifts).



> X-Men, Avengers, and the whole of the Marvel continuum belong to Marvel, not myself, and are used without permission, but with extreme respect and admiration. 
> 
> This story is technically not canon compliant from Iron Man 2/Thor/Captain America on. However, elements of the movies that it is not compliant with (Iron Man 3, Avengers, etc.) have been used. It's AU.
> 
> This story deals with characters hunting for food, and discussions of abortion. I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable.
> 
> \---
> 
> For more fic and art, you can follow me on Tumblr! [sparrowshellcat](http://sparrowshellcat.tumblr.com)

Though they were technically supposed to be an elite force of superheroes that had a complicated relationship with the government through SHIELD and were in every way a crack professional unit, the Avengers mansion really felt a lot less like a superhero base, and more like a daycare.

Clint had to push past several jugs of apple juice, a tupperwear of carrot sticks, and a bag of cheese cut into funny shapes before he finally found a bottle of beer.

Slamming the door shut, he cracked off the cap of the bottle, and considered the drawings that were magneted to the door of the fridge with brightly coloured letters. There was a painted hand turkey, a report card with a gold star, and a drawing done by a childish hand, with crayons. It was a series of little brightly coloured blobs, far as he could tell, but some helpful adult had labeled each one with pen – Maggie, Joseph, Mary, Tony Jr, and Cherry. At this point, he was just glad that at least two of those five were at school during the days right now. Give it another couple months, it would be summer, and _nothing_ would be safe.

He sighed, heavily, and decided that instead of braving the kid-friendly confines of what was technically his home, that he would just go outside.

Not that outside was _much_ better, he thought, in retrospect. He had to step over a tricycle, and kick a soccer ball aside.

But the garden was quiet, and he padded across the grass, boots barely making a whisper of sound. He took a slow swig of his beer, then headed to the cheery trees that stood around the greenhouse. Balancing his beer against his chest, he tugged himself up, using his legs and his other arm to haul himself up. A few moments later, he was settled down into the crook of the tree branch, one leg dangling as he sipped at his beer, lazily. Being up in the tree might not be the _best_ option, but at least there were no kids here, and being up here made him feel a little more like home.

There was a pair of squirrels fighting on a branch a few trees away, and Clint watched them, lazily, pondering the shot he'd take, if he had his bow.

Damn.

Should have brought his bow.

Still, entertainment aside, at least he had a good vantage point out here, because he could lean back against the trunk of the tree and look out over the whole of the grounds. What had once been Stark mansion and was now the Avengers mansion was a very large piece of property, though he often wondered if the massive walls around the garden were meant to keep strangers out, or to keep the morons inside from getting out. Considering how easily that T'Challa man had gotten in here a few months ago, he was going to go with it was keeping them _in_. He sort of thought they should get that guy into Avengers, he was pretty damn impressive.

Looking out over the garden gave him a good vantage point to see Coulson head closer, walking down the cobblestone path towards him. Well, he _could_ have been coming to the greenhouse, but from the slightly grumpy look on the SHIELD agent's face, he figured that he was probably just pissed that he had to come _find_ Clint. Ah well, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. He didn't need to answer to Coulson, anymore.

Finally, Coulson stood under his tree, and Clint leaned over slightly as he peered down at him, sipping at his beer. “What're you doing down there?”

“Looking for you.” Coulson said, bluntly, leaning back slightly as he looked back up at him. “Why are you up in a tree?”

“I'm avoiding the little rugrats, because they have taken over the damn house. Not that you would know what it's like to have to avoid them, since you're _adding_ to the children...”

“Cherry doesn't live here,” Coulson said, calmly.

“Yeah, maybe not, but the sheer number of _play dates_ you all have, feels like she's practically a fixture.” Clint waved his hand, dismissively, and took another deep pull of his beer. “So what were you looking for me for, anyway? I didn't hear anything about assembling...”

“That's because you're not.” He said, and looked up at Clint with remarkable aplomb. “SHIELD is sending you on a mission.”

“...excuse me?” Clint arched a brow, and drained the last of his beer. “You do know that I’m an _Avenger_ now, right?”

“We're aware. Technically, this is an Avenger mission.” Coulson frowned slightly. “Are you coming down?”

“Not until you tell me what this mission is.”

The agent took a deep breath, and nodded, finally. “Right then. Magneto has made an offer to Logan, attempting to entice him to join his Brotherhood. He _claims_ to have additional information about his past, so naturally, Logan is curious. We have decided to encourage him to investigate, to get more information about Magneto's operations, and the like.”

“Diabolical.” Clint grinned, peering down at him. “So what do I have to do with it?”

“We want you to go as backup.”

He snorted, and shifted so that he was sitting properly on the branch, then swung down. For a moment, he hung by his knees, then he swung himself down, landing lightly on his feet on the grass. “You _are_ aware of the fact that I use titanium arrows, right?”

“I have also seen you use improvised weapons.” Coulson countered. “And I know that you _have_ a wooden bow.”

“...you're gonna send me in against Magneto with a wooden bow, and what, ceramic arrows?”

“Ceramic,” he agreed, nodding.

“...you're planning on sending me to go see Magneto, with a wooden bow, and ceramic arrows, as backup for Logan. You _may_ be insane.” He groaned softly, running his hand through his hair. “You are aware that I’m _human_ , right, and Magneto would probably kill me the moment I walked into his headquarters, because I’m _human_?”

“Logan will keep you from being killed,” Coulson said, calmly.

“The dude with the metal skeleton is going to protect me from the guy with the metal controlling mutation?” Clint arched a single brow, considering the man suspiciously. Was he actually kidding? No wait, Coulson never kidded about missions. Awesome. “Right, all right, shame we didn't have another mutant on the team to send after Logan... hey wait, does Johnny count as a mutant, for like, what Magneto cares about? Cause we could just send Johnny with him...”

“We're sending you, Barton.”

“...right. So much for a logical argument.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll go. But if I get killed by the magnet bastard, I am going to haunt your ass.”

“Duly noted,” Coulson nodded.

 

+++

 

“Does this not seem like an awful idea, to you?”

Logan didn't look up, he was leaning back into the bench seat, gripping the edges of the bench a little too hard. His knuckles were white, which said a lot about hid current state of mind. Still, he answered, “Of course it does.”

“...so why are we _doing_ it?” Clint hissed, holding the grip of his bow a little too hard, wishing the arrows on his back were a little more comforting. Ceramic arrowheads were doable, they would do the job. But going back to archery's roots with wooden arrows with feather fletching wasn't exactly what he'd expected to be doing, not with the experimental Stark-tech arrows that he was now used to using, but at least he knew he was prepared for whatever else _might_ happen. “Because if it's just because we _might_ unlock some secrets from your past, dude, sign up for an Ancestors.com account.”

That _did_ make the other man glance at him, but that wasn't really making Clint feel much better. “We're doing it because your _SHIELD_ thinks that we can find his weaknesses.”

“And you're really the kind of guy that likes taking _orders_ ,” Clint rolled his eyes.

Logan gave him a sharp glare.

“What, I call 'em like I see 'em, buddy. I call bullshit on your 'doing it because SHIELD thinks' thing, and raise you 'you're only doing this to figure out who you are'.” He said, though he kept his voice low, because he thought it might be a bad idea to let the woman that was flying the helicopter let them know that they were talking about this. She probably couldn't hear, what with the fact that she had a heavy set of pilot's communication headphones on, but Clint wasn't sure he trusted blue women very much. He'd never actually _met_ a blue woman, before, but he was still pretty sure he didn't trust them. “So don't get _me_ killed because _you_ need to figure out who you are.”

Logan glowered at him, but lifted his chin, finally. “Fine.”

This was an awkward and tenuous peace, Clint knew that. Logan was a good man, sure, and he'd fought alongside him for a long time, now, but he also knew that Logan's search for himself was sort of a driving force in his life. So Logan could tell him that he would behave all he wanted, he was pretty sure that the other man would still make some stupid decisions. That was sort of what Logan _did_ , in his estimation, making slightly risky and reckless decisions.

Not all of us, Clint thought, grumpily, are able to just brush off injuries.

“So,” he said, lowly, brushing his thumb up and down the smooth lacquered wood of his bow, quietly. At least this was somewhat soothing. “They _do_ know I’m human, right? So how come she just let me onto the helicopter, no questions asked?”

“Dunno.” Logan frowned slightly, glancing past him into the front of the helicopter.

“Hm.” Clint frowned, considering that. “We're not walking into an execution, are we?”

“...we'd better not be.”

“Hey, he said he wants to get you to join... I mean, who _wouldn't_ want you to join? So I guess this makes sense, doesn't it?” Clint frowned, shifting slightly. “Frankly, if he were smart, he'd try to get _me_ to join, too, but I guess I’m just not mutant enough for him, huh?”

Logan smirked slightly. “Probably not.”

Clint grinned as he considered his companion. Funny, that Logan was all rough-and-tumble, rage and fury, action and motion, and the guy was scared of _flying_. So maybe he was trying to get Logan's mind off of the fact that they were in a plane. It wasn't that he was actually trying to make him feel _better_ , exactly, so much as he was just trying to keep his angry companion from being stupid and getting his mind off of the mission itself. “All right, so... what's our plan of attack? Suppose I should stay out of the way, huh?”

“Unless you _want_ to be killed,” Logan shrugged, and glanced at him, looking him up and down. “How much metal is _on_ yer clothes?”

“None.” He grinned back. “Apparently all of my kickass metal bits can be remade with plastic. Who knew?”

He shook his head, and leaned back on the bench seat, closing his eyes, though when the helicopter shifted slightly in the air, maybe hitting a patch of turbulence, Logan's knuckles tightened harder on the edge of the bench.

“Pussy,” Clint muttered, smirking.

“Say that again when we're on the ground.” Logan growled.

“What, you think I have a death wish?” Clint grinned at him. “No thank you.”

The trip itself wasn't too long, all things considered, except that they'd left pretty damn early in the morning, and Clint hated sitting still for that long, and eventually he actually fell asleep without even planning to, so when they landed with a bit of a jarring thump, he jerked his head up, startled. He had apparently slumped over, his head resting on Logan's shoulder, and he wiped at his mouth, clearing his throat. “...are we there, then?”

Logan nodded, frowning slightly. “I think so.”

“Awesome.” He cleared his throat again, retrieving his bow from where it had slid forward in his lap, and tightened his grip on it.

The engine, which had been a dull roar in the background the entire time, abruptly cut off, and he was surprised to discover that it actually made his ears _hurt_ , to not have the roar of the engine still there, anymore. That probably said something about hearing damage, Clint figured. A moment later, Mystique stepped out of the cabin, all sleek and elegant and very nakedly blue. If she wasn't blue, Clint would have chalked her onto his 'must bang' list. Actually, he didn't really have a problem with the _blue_ , what freaked him out was the scales over her blue skin. Yeah, he'd have done her if she didn't have scales.

She considered them both, seriously, for a long moment, her yellow eyes flicking from Clint to Logan, then her lips curled upwards in an almost devious smirk. Without a word, she leaned over to release the door hold, and it swung open, creating a staircase when it swung down to the grass.

Mystique crooked her fingers at them, then started down the steps, and okay, even _with_ the scales, Clint found himself watching her ass. Okay, he took it back, he could still tap that.

“Guess we're expected,” Logan smirked, and unbuckled himself, standing up. “Let's get this done with.”

“Oh yeah, running to our deaths even faster, that sounds awesome.” Clint unbuckled himself, and slung his bow across his chest. It wasn't the best for the bowstring, or for the lacquer on the wood, but it was only short term, and at least he was pretty sure no one would try and take the bow, this way. The string ran from his right shoulder to just above his left hip, so that he could easily tug it up and off, when it was needed. “All right, Logan my man, lead the way.”

The mutant snorted, but did, in fact, lead the way.

As Clint ducked under the edge of the doorframe, his eyes widened slightly as they emerged out into the world beyond. He wasn't really sure what he _had_ been expecting, but this wasn't it, that was for sure. They had landed in a low valley, all long grass and drifting yellow mustard flowers, with a low river running down through the valley itself. They were ringed on all sides by a mountain range, and there were stone walls not far away, as though this valley was contained in a crack that had been split out of the stone itself. Birds flickered through the trees that swayed in a faint breeze, and he could hear, now that the engine buzz was starting to fade out of his ears, the hum of cicadas.

“...this is not exactly what I had pictured.” Clint admitted.

Logan shook his head.

Even without the other saying it, Clint knew what he meant. _You said you were going to be quiet and stand out of the way, Clint. You have already managed to fail at that_.

Yeah, well... he didn't really care what Logan thought, did he?

Mystique gave him a slight smirk, and crooked her fingers at them, walking away, that glorious blue ass swaying slightly as she did.

“Well then,” Clint playfully bowed to Logan, sweeping out his arm. “After you, darling.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but set off after Mystique, and let Clint fall into step behind him. As he watched his companion walk, Clint _did_ wonder why exactly he hadn't chosen to wear the black leather thing that he usually wore when he ran into battle. He guessed it made some sense, though, after all. Wasn't he supposed to be trying to convince Magneto that he was considering joining his team? Maybe under those circumstances, jeans and a leather jacket _was_ a better option than running out in skin tight black leather.

As they walked, though, Clint's eyes tried to be everywhere at once, not just on the _very_ nice asses of the two people walking ahead of him. He had to look for vantage points, places where he could sit and snipe, if he had to, anywhere that he could use to his advantage. There didn't actually seem to be any buildings, which seemed rather odd, really, all things considered. If this was Magneto's headquarters, then shouldn't he have a place for them to be leading from?

“Where are we going?” He muttered, quietly.

Logan shook his head, apparently as unsure as he was, about this.

Something felt... _off_. Just wrong, like there was something waiting for them here that Clint couldn't quite put his finger on. After all, everything looked sort of normal, long run, but he had been, if nothing else, in SHIELD long enough that he felt pretty sure he _knew_ when something was wrong.

And something was definitely wrong.

Mystique pushed aside the swaying branches of a willow tree, and slipped under the shady canopy. The sunlight played tricks on the eye under here, soft golden dapples of light playing over their skin. Here, finally, stood the man that they had apparently come to meet, though Erik wasn't wearing the helmet, it was under his arm, resting on his hip. Almost an insult, really, that neither of them were enough of a threat that he needed to wear his helmet. Well, maybe Clint could prove him wrong. Magneto smiled when they approached, a slow sort of grin that did not speak to comfort and trust.

“Hello, gentlemen.” Magneto said, dipping his head, slightly.

Logan grunted, and nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't really look like he wanted to _talk_.

Clint couldn't really blame him.

Mystique suddenly seemed to appear over their shoulders, and Clint jumped, swearing slightly. She smirked again, the dappling light making her skin shift between blue and green and teal, a beautiful look, really, and the more he saw her, the more he was starting to think that he needed to take back his original thoughts. He would _totally_ do a blue chick, scales and all. “Jumpy?” She drawled.

“I don't usually find myself in the company of such _beautiful_ women,” he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “Call me eager.”

She smirked, and her yellow eyes flickered in the sort of way that he thought might mean they were changing colour, but that seemed a little odd. What could she have to hide? He already knew what her real form looked like. “You're human.” She said, instead.

“Last I checked.” Clint shrugged. “But with the company I keep, who knows when that could change?”

“A refreshing attitude,” Magneto said, calmly, though he still had that smirk that didn't make Clint feel terribly confident. “Humanity, after all, is a handicap.”

“Eh, I’ve done all right so far,” he shrugged, and thought he was doing remarkably well at being calm when Mystique trailed her fingertips up the back of his neck and into his hair. “Though who knows what I’d be like if I was a mutant, long run.”

“About as much of an idiot as you are now,” Logan said, dryly.

The woman let out a light barking laugh, and dropped her hand off of the back of Clint's neck, and moved around to hover over Logan's shoulder, instead. Her long, narrow fingers trailed along the edge of Logan's collar, then her fingers slid into his thick, course hair, as though trying to examine it. Logan bared his teeth in a light growl, and she leaned over to press her lips firmly to his temple for a moment, then dropped her hand, and slinked over to Magneto's side, moving from hip to hip as she did, as though trying to seduce with nothing more than a walk. Leaning on Magneto's side, she smirked at them both, heavy lidded and calm.

Clint took it all back. He would have _so_ much sex with that woman. Blue and scales and all.

“So why are we here?” Logan said, arms crossed over his chest.

“Obviously, you received my invitation.” Magneto smirked, dipping his head towards them, then grinned almost deviously. It was a serious sort of look, but it said more things than words themselves seemed to. “So you've come... and with a guest.”

“Yeah, you said you wanted me to join yer Brotherhood.” Logan shrugged with one shoulder. “I brought Barton as security.”

“Oh, I’m _very_ pleased you brought him,” Magneto said, holding out a hand. “It saved me the effort of finding a human.”

_That_ sounded ominous.

Clint narrowed his brows. “...what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean? I thought you hated humans.”

“I do, in fact.” Magneto said, calmly, and seemed completely unphased by the fact that Mystique was leaning on his side, her head resting on his shoulder as she did, red hair spilling over the magenta folds of his cape. “Which is mostly why we needed you. We needed a control subject, really. Our friend the Wolverine is naturally the perfect control, as he can brush nearly everything off. But long run, we simply had to know how well it would works on humans.”

“How well _what_ would work on humans?” Logan growled, eyes narrowed.

Mystique's grin was absolutely delighted, her teeth perfectly white in her blue face, looking entirely predatory.

It was Magneto, though, that said, “Come here, my dear.”

Clint saw nothing, at first, didn't know what the mutant was referring to, but Logan's nostrils flared, and the look that crossed the other's face told him that _something_ was not right. But when a girl stepped out from behind one of the trees a moment later, and slipped under the branches of the willow tree, he wasn't really sure what the hell was the problem. She was just a girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, black hair hanging long and straight around her shoulders, dark eyes looking at them, nervous. Sure, she looked scared as anything, but she also didn't really look like a _threat_.

Okay, with mutants, just looking perfectly normal didn't mean she wasn't a _threat_ , but still.

Only looking back up from the completely nonthreatening girl to the man and woman that had brought her there told him something completely different. They were wearing masks that he hadn't actually seen them putting on, black and sort of heavy, reminding him a bit of Darth Vader or COBRA, or something, and both of their eyes twinkled sort of mischievously at them over the top of the masks. It was as though they were trying to keep from breathing something in.

“What the hell...?” Clint asked, confused.

Only Logan had uncrossed his arms, and was snarling as he flexed, then clenched his fingers, over and over, reflexively. “You are a _sick_ bastard,” he snarled, at Magneto.

“So I hear,” the man said, voice muffled and sort of mechanized behind his mask.

Clint narrowed his eyes, then swung his bow off of his shoulders, in one smooth motion. Notching an arrow to the string, he lifted it to fire, then halted, abruptly. Clint liked to consider himself a _very_ good archer. He was smooth, he was fast, he was ready to _move_ , but at that moment, he was stopped dead in his tracks.

And _not_ for any reason that he'd ever considered before.

The girl let out a soft sound, a murmur that sounded a lot like an apology, but he couldn't actually make out the words, all he could hear was the pounding of blood in his ears.

Magneto was saying something, he was sure that he was, he could see him motioning as though talking with his hands. But Clint had no idea what was being said. Something _very_ strange was happening, it was as though something had taken over his body. He wondered if this was what being possessed felt like – fire surging through his gut, as though he couldn't quite regain control of his own limbs. At first, he thought that it was just some kind of biological weapon, chemical – or mutant – warfare that was just taking out his body.

But then the lust hit him like a punch to his gut.

Clint's bow hit the grass, but he didn't even notice. He could feel every drop of sweat where it ran down the back of his neck, as though he was standing in the scorching sun instead of under the shadow of the tree. His clothes seemed too tight, too restrictive, as though they were trapping him inside, and he was fairly sure that he had never been this hard in his _life_ , he was so hard that it actually _hurt_ , as though if he couldn't get himself something done about it done _now_ , he was going to be in agony.

And then he _did_ hear something through his haze. It was a growl, deep and low, and Clint lifted his head, almost dizzy, to focus on Logan.

It was like tunnel vision, like it was when he was trying to shoot sniper-style, a narrowed field of vision right down to just what he was focusing on – and what he was focusing on was the mutant he'd come here, with. As though he was a puppet on the strings, he jerked awkwardly towards Logan, needy. He _needed_ him.

Teeth bared, Logan growled, “ _Barton_ , get your _bow_!”

He just stumbled closer to him.

The other snarled, louder, and sweat beaded on his brow, a few stray locks of his chestnut hair sticking to his forehead. Clint had never really thought twice about Logan before, but now, all he could manage to focus on was the idea of running his tongue up the flat of that scruffy jaw, _god_ , what was happening to him?

Pain suddenly punched through his haze, and the pressing heat of need and desire were broken by the sharp searing white of the pain.

Gasping, startled, Clint blinked several times, and realized that his arm was bleeding. Logan had slashed at his arm. Brows furrowed, trying to fight through the confusion and the need, he demanded, “What the _hell_ was _that_?!”

“Get. Your. Bow.” The other snarled.

He scrambled back, struggling through the warmth and the needy haze, and scooped up his bow. Jerking an arrow out of his quiver with far less skill and grace than he normally would have, he notched the arrow to the string again, and lifted it. Clint's hands were shaking, and he didn't like that, but he had to _act_. He fired, a series of shots, one arrow after the other, trying to hit either Magneto or Mystique, at the moment he wasn't terribly picky.

Only the more time from the moment that Logan had cut him was passing, the more the desire was crushing back into him again.

“Take out the _girl_!” Logan howled, and he twisted, trying to fire at her.

Only the moment he tried, the girl threw up her hands, letting out a cry of fear, and every inclination he had ever had to do what Logan had ordered disappeared. The lust was back, only stronger than before, if that was even possible, and his bow clattered to the ground again.

Clint struggled to regain control, tried to get a hold of himself. Maybe if he hurt himself again...

Logan's arms suddenly slammed around his waist, like a football tackle, and the momentum took them both down to the ground. His quiver pressed into his back as four hundred pounds of angry mutant pinned him to the grass, but somehow he didn't even seem to notice. All he could feel was the surging ache of desire running under his skin, and how his skin seemed almost too hot anywhere that Logan touched him.

“Son of a _bitch_...” Clint hissed, arching under the other man.

“I _don't_ want you,” Logan snarled, but the way that he was all but rutting against Clint's thigh sort of belied _that_ statement.

“You think I _do_?” He shot back, sliding his fingers into Logan's thick hair, gripping tightly at his coarse locks.

The other snarled, then crushed his lips against Clint's.

_That_ made Clint arch, desperately, under him. Oh yes, the logical part of his brain was telling him to _stop this stop this stop this what are you doing Logan is awesome and okay if the circumstances were different I’d totally fuck him but he doesn’t want this he said what the fuck stop this_ but his hind-brain, the animalistic part of him that he hadn't actually known was quite this powerful, was howling its pleasure and joy at this, and it was what prompted him to press harder up into the other man, thrusting his tongue into Logan's mouth as he tried to consume him.

Logan's callused hands caught in the front of Clint's vest, and he bucked up into the other's hand, even though it was only the briefest of touches.

The other man growled, and tore his vest apart. Were Clint thinking logically, he would have probably complained. He _liked_ this vest. But at the moment, he _wasn't_ thinking logically, he was thinking that he needed to struggle out of his quiver so he could get the maximum amount of skin bare, and if he could at all manage it, he _needed_ out of these pants.

“We have to fight through this,” Logan growled, against his skin. When had Logan started biting at his collarbone? “You with me, Barton?”

“Oh, I’m with you,” he groaned, arching up.

“We have to fight,” Logan said again, voice rough and harsh, though his rough hands were fighting with Clint's belt.

“Yeah, fighting,” Clint agreed, breathlessly, but his fingers had managed to find their way down Logan's stomach – hot _damn_ , he liked the muscles he could feel under that t-shirt – and was unbuckling the leather belt that he found there, next. It was like he couldn't move fast enough for the aching desire under his skin, like his normally capable fingers had gone stupid. “I'm totally fighting the – the whatever it is, oh yeah, fighting, _shit_ , how much do you work out, Logan? Really, you are seriously _cut_ , really...”

“Shut up,” he growled against his skin, and Clint's pants tore. Clint couldn't tell if it was because Logan had just ripped, of if he'd cut at them. At that moment, he didn't really care.

“Yeah, not really good at doing that,” Clint said, breathlessly, and finally managed to get Logan's jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, and pushed his hand inside of them, curling his fingers around Logan's penis, and groaned, deeply, at what felt like searing heat pressing into his palm. Hell, the other's cock was probably a usual mortal heat, he didn't think the man he was pinned under right now was actually a fire god, or something, but it was probably whatever was happening to them. Whatever it was, though, the other man's cock fit perfectly into his hand, and he stroked it, firmly, his palm already slick with pre-come. “ _Fuck_ , what is happening to us...?”

“Mutation,” Logan growled, bucking into Clint's hand, even as he managed to jerk his pants down.

Shivering at the brush of cool air that slid across his naked skin, Clint tried to tug him closer, eyelids flickering. “Mutation?” He wasn't sure if he was expecting Logan to catch his hands on his hips, and flip him over onto his stomach or not, but it was absolutely the very best thing in the world, whether he'd expected it or not, and Clint groaned, pressing his forehead to the dirt as he arched up into the hands holding his hips too tightly. “ _God_ , Logan, if you don't fuck me, I may _kill_ you...”

“The girl.” The man that was curled over him rasped in his ear, and Clint arched back into his chest, desperately, trying to make more contact. “She's pumping out pheromones.”

“Remind me to shoot her later,” he groaned, fumbling, laying open mouth kisses along the line of Logan's jaw. “God, _fuck me_.”

“We have to fight it,” Logan said, sharply, but two of his fingers pressed against Clint's lips. “Get 'em wet.”

Clint gladly opened his mouth, drawing the other's fingers into his mouth with his teeth, and sucked at them, swirling his tongue, trying to get Logan's fingers as wet as he could manage. Sure, he knew what he was doing, knew that this was, long run, an _awful_ idea, but those pheromones that Logan had told him about were apparently making him into an idiot. He could think about consequences later, god dammit, all he wanted, right _now_ , was to get Logan _in him_ , he wanted to be fucked, right now.

Logan suddenly jerked his fingers out of his mouth, and he whined, needy, at the loss.

Only then Logan was pressing one of those slick fingers into Clint's ass, and he completely forgot about the fact that he'd wanted more, to begin with. He bucked back against Logan's fingers, wanting _more_ , dammit, panting hard.

“God _dammit_ , I don't need prep, just... just _fuck_ me...” Clint snarled.

“Shut up,” the other pushed a second finger into him, and it was too early, his body wasn't really ready for this, Clint knew it, and he didn't care, because the extra pressure had him howling, arching harder as he fisted his fingers in the grass. Logan must have known, though, that it wasn't pain, it was _pleasure_ , because he didn't stop, he kept thrusting with those fingers, scissoring and filling Clint like he'd never realized he needed to be filled so badly, before.

“ _Logan_...” he groaned, needy.

“It's gonna hurt,” Logan warned, his voice rough in Clint's ear.

“Do I _look_ like I care?” He demanded, pressing back into the other's hand, desperately.

The other man kissed the skin just under his ear, then slid his fingers almost tortuously slowly out of him. Clint groaned pathetically at the absence, feeling too open and raw and in _need_ , but that desperation was served a moment later when Logan shifted over him, pressing against him. Yes, okay, Logan was right, he should have gotten more prep, because Logan was _big_ , and Clint's body was not really prepared for this kind of intrusion. But right now, the pain didn't matter, what mattered was the pleasure that accompanied it, what mattered was the lightning bolts of pleasure that were skittering up and down his spine.

Clint tore up fistfuls of grass, pressing back into Logan, eyes rolling back up into his skull as he felt Logan finally stop pressing forward. He felt full, achingly, agonizingly full. Felt like he'd been stretched thin, utterly consumed with the heat of Logan's searing hot cock, filled so completely.

“Oh, fuck...” he moaned, forehead against the dirt, shuddering. He could feel sweat running down his jaw, though he wasn't sure if it was his, or Logan's. His tongue flicked out to catch the sweat on his upper lip, and decided he didn't care.

“Are you ready yet?” Logan growled against his ear, and the broken, jagged edges in his voice sent a shudder of desire down his spine. This was all new to him, even though he'd had sex more times than he could actually remember, right now, in that it was absolutely _more_ than anything he'd ever had before, more raw and open and naked. Almost more vulnerable than he had expected. Clint hadn't even realized that Logan had been trying to keep himself still, to try and let him adjust.

“Ready,” Clint panted.

At once, the man over him pulled back, dragging his cock out of Clint in a way that made him arch, then slammed back into him again.

Clint howled, utterly helpless against the complete pleasure that arched through him.

If someone had asked Clint, beforehand, what two men having sex because there were pheromones rippling through their systems and making them utterly helpless against the pleasure would be like, he would have snickered and suggested that it would have been like two animals rutting, a desperate and fevered pitch that made no sense beyond the frenzied sex. And, to an extent, he figured that it sort of was. They _were_ completely helpless against it, and they _were_ rutting in the grass like animals. But it was also a lot more than he had expected, because Logan kept laying sloppy, open mouthed kisses against the back of his neck, and Clint couldn't seem to stop his _mouth_ , he kept rambling, gasping out all of the things that Logan was making him feel, all the things he was going to do, once he came back to himself and how much he was going to shoot Magneto full of arrows.

One of Logan's hands shifted off of his hips, and his hand curled around Clint's cock.

Clint nearly sobbed, bucking into the other man's hand, torn between trying to figure out which was more pleasurable, the hand around his prick, or the cock in his ass, not sure if he should try and press more into the other's fingers or his dick, and settled on, in the end, shuddering and panting as Logan worked. His orgasm was ripped out of him before he had expected it, and Clint howled into the grass as his thighs shook. His vision whited out as he came over the dirt and Logan's hand, like he had been standing on the edge of Niagara falls, and he'd been tipped right over the edge, crashing down into the water below.

Logan didn't stop thrusting, kept fucking him as Clint rode through his orgasm.

Groaning, Clint squeezed around the other man as much as he could, feeling weak as a kitten, thighs still trembling. “C'mon, Logan... c'mon mountain man, _come_.”

The other barked in laughter, then his laugh caught halfway through, and Clint dug his fingernails in the dirt as he felt the other man slam as deep into him as he could manage, and come for what felt like an eternity. Time had ceased to function somewhere around the time they'd gotten hit with the pheromones, to begin with, so he wasn't surprised, but finally his arms and legs stopped holding him up, and he slumped to the grass, bonelessly. Logan slumped over him, too heavy, really, pinning him down, but so long as Clint could draw breath, he didn't really care. It still felt _good_.

He'd sort of expected the muddled-ness to fade, once they'd come. He expected the pheromones to free them, to feel more like himself again.

Clint wasn't sure if he was happy, or pissed, that it didn't.

Logan rocked, slowly, and he drew a shuddering breath.

“You're still hard, aren't you?” Clint panted, his chest seeming to rise and fall too fast, as though he was hyperventilating.

“Are you saying you're not?” Logan growled, pressing more of those opened mouth kisses to the side of Clint's throat, under his ear.

“Never said that,” he groaned, eyes falling shut.

Logan rocked his hips again.

Clint let out a shuddering breath, fingers curling in the dirt again. “God, I may be the luckiest man alive...”

+++

When Clint finally came back to himself, he had no idea how much time, exactly, had passed. All he knew was that he was laying on his back on the grass, that the air around him was cool, the sky was dark and scattered with stars, and that there was a hot as fire arm under his head, pillowing it from pressing onto the ground itself.

He twisted slightly, and blinked up at Logan, who was laying beside him, chest rising and falling as he breathed. “...hey.”

Logan's head shifted slightly as he looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. “...hey.”

“Any idea what time it is?”

The other shook his head, then amended, “From the look of the sky, early morning.”

“Hm.” Clint sighed softly, and shifted a little, again, trying to sit up, and groaned before he slumped back onto Logan's arm again. “...ow.”

Logan snorted, which wasn't really comforting. “I told you it was gonna hurt.”

“Okay, point taken, but it might have been the fact that we did it for, like... hours.” Clint lifted a heavy arm, and ran his hand over his face, flaking off crusty, dried come. Gross. “Okay, well... we did a _lot_ of things for a lot of hours. Ugh, my jaw hurts.”

The other laughed again, which was _still_ not making him feel better.

“Okay, you're seriously not helping, here. The sore jaw is _all_ your fault, don't even pretend it's not.” Clint pushed himself up again, fighting through his noodley limp muscles, and took a deep breath. “...my whole body aches. Did you like, fuck parts of me I’ve forgotten I had?”

Logan snorted, and abruptly surged up beside him, sitting up.

Clint shied away from him a little, not wanting to make it seem like he was a wimp or a retiring flower, or something, but he'd just completely lost track of _himself_ for at least eight hours, there, and had orgasmed more times than he would have thought was _physically_ possible, considering human limitations, so yeah, maybe he didn't really want to be tugged back into more of that.

Not yet, anyhow.

“C'mon,” Logan abruptly stood, offering him his hand.

He hesitated, then said, “Do I _look_ like a shy maiden that needs help, or something?”

“Fine.” Logan dropped his hand. “Figure it out yourself.”

Logan headed off back towards the willow tree that this had all sort of started under, and Clint twisted slightly to watch him, all naked and hairy, lines of muscles shifting under his skin as he moved. Okay, even if he hadn't really _planned_ all of this, Logan _was_ a hot piece of man.

“Okay, Clint,” he told himself, firmly, “You've been through much worse. You can do this.”

Pushing himself up onto his hands and knees seemed to work okay, but once he was _there_ , it was kind of a lot harder than expected to actually stand up. His whole body just sort of ached – not in a bad way, not really, just... well. He'd sort of used a lot more of it than he usually did, in an eight hour stretch, and that included all of his crazy SHIELD missions and training with Captain America.

“...ready to accept help now?”

Clint finally lifted his head, panting slightly as he grinned up at Logan. “...does it make me a total pussy to say yes?”

“Yes,” Logan shrugged, but the other man crouched in front of him, anyway, and hooked his hands under Clint's shoulders, tugging him up to his feet. Hissing slightly, Clint had to clutch at the other man's shoulders, but Logan seemed remarkably patient in holding him up, so at least that was something. “Think you can keep your feet under you?”

“No.” Clint said, without hesitation.

“Right then.” He ducked his head under the other's arm, and half carried, half walked Clint into the shelter of the willow tree, again. Logan lowered him down to the base of the willow tree, and Clint settled on the roots, sighing softly as he relaxed, and wished he wasn't quite so _naked_ , there was bark pressing into his spine. “Sit there, for awhile, then.”

“So... are they gone, then?” Clint asked, trying to get comfortable.

Logan bent to pick up an arrow, and his nostrils flared. “Yeah, looks like. You hit Mystique.”

He blinked. “I did?”

The other man held up the arrow, which _was_ bloody. “I have drawn her blood enough times to know what it smells like. You managed to shoot her, so they probably left to get her some care. There's a lot of her blood around here.”

Clint grinned, and leaned back. “Heh, I am _good_ at what I do.”

“Hm.” Logan nodded, lifting his head slightly. “The helicopter's gone, we're going to have to find our own way out of here.”

“Sure, call the Avengers, they'll come get us.”

“And how, exactly, do you plan on doing that?” Logan arched a brow, stooping to gather up the pretty much shredded remains of what had once been their clothes.

“With our...” Clint hesitated. “...we didn't bring any communicators, did we?”

“No metal.” Logan reminded him.

“Oh wait! I did, here, grab my vest out of there, if you've got it...” Clint held out his hands for it. Logan tossed the remnants over to him, and he dug through the pockets. “Stark made me a plastic... aw shit.” He held up the crunched remains of what had _once_ been an earpiece. “...so apparently pheromone frenzy makes me clumsy.”

The other man smirked, and tugged on his jeans, which appeared to be mostly in one piece.

Clint sighed, and tossed the twisted plastic aside, then picked through what was left of his clothes, getting more and more discouraged by what he found. “...you actually _shredded_ my pants.”

Logan glanced up, and smirked. “You weren't getting out of them fast enough.”

“Aw, fuck you.” He grumbled, trying to figure out if they could be salvaged enough to at least not be naked.

“You did. Twice.” Logan shot back, picking up his jacket, considering it.

“...well, yeah, but... whatever.” Clint groaned, and tugged his pants on, slowly, grumbling at them. They were _not_ in good shape – Logan had actually taken his claws to the front of them, and where the fly normally did up was just a mess of loose fabric scraps. “...this is _so_ not going to work.”

“Learn how to sew,” the other shot back. “Sew 'em up, and you'll be good to go.”

“Ha ha.” He rolled his eyes, and tried to tie the pieces together into something that at least kept his cock _inside_ the pants. His belt was shredded, though, so that wasn't going to help, much.

“Here.”

He looked up to realize that Logan was offering him the leather belt he'd struggled to get out of Logan's pants so hard a lifetime ago. Clint snagged it from his fingers, and slid it through his belt loops, and yeah, that _did_ help a little. Good. “...thanks.”

He shrugged, then tossed his plaid flannel shirt at Clint, next. “Put that on. You could put someone's eye out.”

“....huh?” He blinked at him, then looked down at himself, and rolled his eyes. “Oh ha ha, it's _cold_!”

Logan snickered, tugging on his jacket. “We need some food... I’ll go track something down.”

“Hey, wait, I could do that!” Clint protested. “I can hunt!”

“And you can stand... how well?”

“...okay, you have a point _there_ ,” Clint grumbled, and sank back into the trunk of the tree, buttoning up his – Logan's – flannel shirt. “Well, what good am _I_ , just sitting here and trying not to be all sore?”

“Not much.” Logan shrugged.

“...you suck.” Clint hesitated, then grinned. “You also did that.”

“Gather some wood or something, make yerself useful.” The other man grunted, then tapped Clint's forehead, and headed for the curtain of branches formed by the willow tree. “I'll be back with some food.”

“What am I, your bitch?” He hollered after him, and didn't like the way he heard a sharp laugh float back to him at that. “...don't answer that!”

Clint pushed himself up, and was relieved to discover that a little bit of time after coming back to himself meant that he was a little less sore, already. Not a whole lot less sore, but enough that he was able to push himself to his feet, and pad across the ground, barefoot. Bending to pick things up wasn't so awesome, but he still managed to retrieve his boots and Logan's, setting them side by side at the base of the tree, then gathered up his bow and his arrows, checking them for damage. The bow was fine, but he still unstrung it, hooking it to the loose string so that the wood could relax. With a metal bow, he could leave it strung, it wouldn't damage the bow. But with a wooden one, it would absolutely destroy the lacquer, and considering it might take them a while to get back to civilization, he decided to preserve the bow. That was smarter.

One of the arrows he'd fired was ruined – the one he'd hit Mystique with. It drove him nuts when people just went “Can't you just clean it?”, because when an arrow had hit someone, there was damage. His titanium arrows could usually be adjusted and rebent and maybe used for a few more shots, but a wooden arrow, once it had been stuck into a person and shook about, it would never be the same. He could maybe use it for hunting, if he could refletch it... hm.

Setting his quiver and the bow aside, Clint limped around the area as he gathered loose branches and large twigs, tossing them into a pile.

By the time Logan came back, he had a little fire pit built a little outside of the shelter of the willow tree, and he was fumbling to get a fire lit with two rocks. One was definitely flint, but he was not doing as well starting fires as he used to do in his actual SHIELD training. Go figure, Coulson was right when he said that you should keep practicing.

The other man dropped a pair of rabbits beside him, then considered Clint for a moment. There was a _shnickt_ as he slid out his claws, then Logan struck them on one of the rocks around the edge of the ring for the fire, and after a couple strikes, the tree bark Clint had scattered through the branches caught on fire.

“...okay, you made that look easy.” Clint grumbled.

Logan smirked, and sat across from him, heavily, before getting to work with cleaning the rabbits.

“Don't toss that fur out, we could probably do something with it.” He said, watching him work.

The other grunted, and once the skin was stripped off of one, tossed it at Clint. “Stretch it out, clean it off.”

“...okay, I didn't necessarily mean _me_ ,” Clint blinked at it, eyes wide, but crinkled his nose, and spread it out, anyway. He sort of stared at the bloody mess for a long moment, and said, “So, what do I do with this, now...?”

Logan huffed, slightly, and picked up a rock, considering it. He tossed it aside, then picked up another, and nodded before tossing it to Clint, as well. “Use this to scrape the hide, you need it to be clean.”

“You know, we _have_ moved out of the stone ages,” Clint muttered, but went to work, anyway, crinkling his nose slightly as he scraped the blood and leftover flesh left on the skin. Logan tossed him another piece of fur a few minutes later, and he grumbled at the man, though he worked on it, anyway. Finally, hands bloody and messy, Clint said, “Is the food almost ready?”

“It is,” he agreed, frowning slightly as he leaned over the fire. Logan had both of the rabbits buried in the coals, roasting them. “We really need to stretch those, if we're going to do anything with them.”

Clint glanced at his cleaned skins. “Well, how are we gonna do that?”

“We'll figure it out.”

A few minutes later, Logan pulled one of the rabbits from the coals, breaking the juicy meat into pieces that he dropped into large maple leaves, and offered one of the greasy, fatty rabbit meat hunks to Clint.

“God, this sort of looks disgusting,” Clint warned him, but he accepted the leaf wrapped bundle, anyway, and peeled a stringy bit off with his fingers, taking a bite.

Logan just shook his head, and went back to eating his own rabbit meat, quietly.

For a long few minutes, there was no sound except them eating, Logan occasionally leaning forward to rip another piece off the cooked carcass, offering those pieces, every once in awhile, to Clint. After a few minutes, though, Clint suddenly said, “So what's the plan, then?”

“Mm?” Logan lifted his head.

“Well, I mean... are we going to talk about what happened, or... are we just going to never talk about it again?”

“Well, don't you think we ought to _warn_ your friends that there's a mutant with pheromones that can completely knock them out walking around?” Logan arched a brow, frowning slightly.

“...well, yeah, but...” Clint pursed his lips, then took another bite of the rabbit.

“Yeah what?” Logan frowned.

He swiped at his chin, which was greasy. He felt like he was eating Kentucky Fried Chicken, or something, it was so greasy, but it didn't really taste like chicken. Funny, he thought everything was supposed to taste like chicken.

Logan apparently figured that this meant he wasn't going to continue, and just dug in the coals to tug out the other rabbit. He set it on a bed of large maple leaves, apparently to cool, then stood to start gathering up more branches and sticks, dropping them into the pile that they were apparently keeping of fire wood, now. Clint watched him for a long few moments, then said, abruptly, over the crackle of the fire, “...we had a _lot_ of sex, Logan.”

The other looked up from the branch he was gathering up, frowning slightly. “We did.”

“Like... a _lot_.” Clint said, frowning slightly.

“That was the pheromones.” The other man shrugged, and tossed the wood on the pile. “Why, are you having a crisis right now?”

“I am not having a _crisis_ , thank you very much.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “What, you think I’d have a crisis just because I had sex with a man? Seriously? Relax. No, I’m thinking... you know... how do we keep acting _normal_ after this much sex? I mean, long run... it's a little awkward to talk to people the morning after, as it is, now you and I are stuck out here in the middle of _nowhere_ , and there's nowhere to _walk_ for the, you know, walk of shame.”

“Do you always talk so much?” Logan grumbled, sitting heavily across the fire from him, again.

“Yes.” He said, without hesitation.

“You should stop.” He said, dryly, and shoved another piece of wood onto the fire.

“You should stop being such an asshole.” Clint tossed back.

Logan just snorted, and ignored him.

“So... where are we gonna _sleep_?” He said, after a long moment, frowning around them at the valley, the air cold on his back even with the fire burning cheerfully in front of him. Logan laughing didn't really make him feel any better.

+++

Clint had stripped down to just his ruined pants again, as he stood in just the edge of the lake, the early morning sun skipping across the surface of the water. It was actually pretty beautiful, long run, but Clint didn't really care whether it was beautiful or not, not right now. He'd apparently gotten over the worst of the marathon sex achiness, but he had not managed to get over the sleeping-on-the-ground-without-even-a-sleeping-bag aches. _That_ wasn't much fun.

Cupping cold water in his hands, he straightened up to splash it over himself, trying to wash off the stale sweat and leftover stickiness from yesterday. It was _cold_ , but at least, from the way the sun was already starting to warm the air, he was pretty sure he could dry off in the sun easily enough. Finally, he bent double so that he could shove his head under the water, which was startlingly clear, and straightened, shaking his head like a dog, droplets of water spraying everywhere. Heh, he thought, he must look like a sexier version of those awful shampoo commercials. A much sexier version.

Finally, feeling at least a little cleaner, he stepped out of the water, and bent to grab his – Logan's – shirt, and tugged it on.

Logan was working on rebanking the fire, which had apparently gotten down to just coals while they had been sleeping, and he looked up when Clint approached.

“Well, _you_ look like a pissy little bitch this morning,” Clint said, flopping to sit down on the rock he'd been sitting on last night, feeling much more like himself, now that he was clean and had at least managed some sleep. “Who peed in your cheerios?”

“Why did you eat the rabbit?” Logan said, glowering at him.

Clint blinked. “...huh? We both ate the rabbit, last night. What are you complaining about?”

“This morning.” He said, frowning, and nodded at the leaves where they had wrapped up the cold rabbit. It was mostly gone.

He scratched the back of his neck, confused. “I didn't. It was probably an animal.”

“There were no animals.” Logan shook his head, and gathered up what little was left of the rabbit, picking meat off of the bones, and dropping the little pieces into a new leaf. “I would be able to tell.”

“Oh right, you and your mutant animal nose.” He scrunched up his face for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, it wasn't me, not unless I was sleep walking, and I haven't slept walked since I was like, ten. And when I _did_ sleep walk, I was shooting things in my sleep. Sides, if I _had_ eaten it, I wouldn't be starving. So it must have been something else.”

The other man frowned slightly, then abruptly offered him a hunk of one of the legs.

“Thanks.” He grinned, and took a bite of the cold, greasy meat. Chewing, he licked some of the meat off of his fingers, then said, “Look, I’ll go out and hunt us something in a minute. You just, I dunno, guard the place.”

Logan arched an eyebrow.

“...or try and figure out if there's a way out of here, whatever.” Clint smirked, and grabbed his boots, tugging them on, relieved that they had been kept warm and dry by the fire all night, and tightened the laces. “I'll be back in a couple hours with some food.”

“You're going to take that long?” The other huffed slightly. “Some hunter you are.”

“Fuck you, princess.” He scooped up his bow and quiver, slinging them on, then headed for the tree line. “I'll be back with food soon.”

Clint headed into the trees, relieved to be embraced by the silence of the woods. He liked the hustle and bustle of the city, but he also liked the stillness and peace of the outdoors. There was the comforting hum of insects starting to wake up after the long night, and the singing of birds that were starting to serenade the sun. The leaves of the trees rustled faintly, almost cheerfully, even though he knew that trees weren't actually able to be cheerful. It still felt like it was a good morning, and Clint was more than happy to move through the trees, quietly, stalking prey.

He saw a few squirrels, and several rabbits, but variety was supposed to be the spice of life. As he walked, he held his bow loosely in one hand, an arrow notched to the string, ready to draw back and fire at the slightest notice.

Finally, he spotted something in the bushes, and swept out his arrow, firing.

There was a deep _thunk_ of sound, a bit of flailing in the bushes, then stillness. Grinning, he stepped forward, and lifted the quail from the bushes, removing the arrow. To his relief, it hadn't fought that much, and holding it up, he peered down the line and decided that it was an acceptable arrow to use again. Grabbing a small sapling, he peeled off a strip of the young bark, and used it as a string to tie up the legs of the quail, and tied it to Logan's belt, so that it bumped against his thigh as he walked. He didn't mind, he could have hunted with dozens of them strapped to his belt.

And hey, the quail was good. But you could also catch these suckers just by chasing them out of the bushes and catching them with your bare hands. So it wasn't _quite_ the challenge that Logan's rabbits had been.

So he kept walking, moving as silently as he could through the underbrush, which was thinning, the further he got into the forest. Here, the trees were thicker, and there was less light for grass and little things to grow. Instead, there was just a low growing moss on the ground, on the rocks, and on the northern side of the trees.

As he crested a low rise, Clint froze, and lowered himself down closer to the ground, holding the quail-blooded arrow notched to his string, holding his breath.

There was a deer, standing in the valley, head lowered as it drank from a small stream that ran through the little crack in the hill. It was a buck, but a young one, with still small antlers, maybe eight point, still soft with the summer velvet. Its tail flicked, just a little, showing the flash of white. He was in the perfect position, the perfect place. The wind was running towards him, and the buck was drinking, its attention on the water, not on him.

Lifting his bow, he tried to keep the whisper of the string as silent as he could, kissing the string as he aimed along the line of the arrow.

Suddenly, the deer lifted his head, and he caught his breath for a moment before he fired, just a touch above and ahead of the deer's throat. There was no point in shooting at its neck itself, because at the _twang_ of the bow, the animal would jump.

The buck jumped right up into the arrow.

It slammed into its throat, and the second arrow that Clint had already yanked out of his quiver slammed into its chest, next, between two ribs, and the deer sagged heavily to the side, then collapsed onto the ground. It kicked its legs, outwards, trying to struggle, but even as Clint was nearing, it was already dying, and he barely needed the knife he'd had tied to his belt to slit its throat.

Retrieving his arrows, the one he'd used twice now was damaged beyond repair, but he tucked it back into the quiver. Just in case, he could always reuse the arrowhead. The other could probably be fixed up a little, and he tucked it in alongside.

“I fucking _rock_.” He said, with a grin, and bent to bodily pick up the buck, slinging the bulk of its body over his shoulders, and held the legs in each hand. “You can keep your rabbits, Logan, I got poultry and venison.”

Of course, carrying it _back_ to camp was less fun. It was heavy as anything, and though Clint was a strong man, between the bad sleep and the maybe hundred and fifty pounds of the buck, it felt like it was heavy as anything. Still, when he stepped out into the clearing, and Logan looked up, one of his brows arching as he saw him, that made everything worthwhile.

Grinning, Clint carried the deer over to the fire, and swung it down to land on the ground. “Hey. The provider returns.”

Logan snorted, and pushed himself up, walking over to him. “Hn. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks.” He grinned, ridiculously pleased with himself. “Now... I caught them, you get to clean them.”

The other man shook his head, but crouched beside the deer, and his claws slid out with a startling sound. “You get to clean the hide, then.”

Clint considered that, untying the quail from his waist. “Deal.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, actually, as they worked. Finally, though, Logan was stretching strips of deer out on the grass to dry, even though Clint complained that there were going to be bugs crawling over their food before they actually got to eat it. Logan didn't really seem to care, actually. He had venison roasting in the coals, though, too, along with the quail.

“Shame we didn't have any bread,” Clint grinned, as he poked at the quail with a stick, and got a swat from Logan for his troubles. “We could have made some stuffing, or something.”

“We could make bannock, if we can find some grains.”

Clint frowned slightly, considering that. “Hm. That's an idea. Wonder if we can find any.”

“There's some growing wild on the left side of the lake,” Logan said, with a slight shrug, he clearly didn't really seem to care that he'd found some.

“...you're frighteningly good at this survival stuff.”

Logan snorted, and smirked sideways at him. “You know I’m considered the wild man, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He grinned. “I got a taste of that yesterday, remember?”

The other shook his head, and threw another branch on the fire.

+++

Clint woke, abruptly, confused.

He wasn't sure _why_ he was bolting awake, really. He was cold, and still tired, and was definitely still sleeping on the ground with Logan's coat draped over him as a sort-of blanket, but it was still dark. Nothing really seemed out of place, everything looked normal.

Looking skywards, he was shocked again by the vast array of stars spread out over the soft black velvet of the night sky. He didn't often see the night sky without light pollution.

Sitting up, the coat slid heavily to the ground and his chest seemed to clench, and he gasped, startled. It wasn't painful, but it _was_ familiar.

It was the same dizzying and confusing flare of pleasure and lust that he had felt right before Logan had tackled him, and they had sort of lost eight hours to a _lot_ of sex. Clint took a deep breath, and pushed himself to his feet, stubbornly trying to keep his head as he scooped up his bow.

But as he bent, he heard a low, almost threatening growl from his left. He jerked that direction, towards the fire, expecting to see a wolf or a coyote, or god, a bear, but it wasn't. It was actually something that might be even _more_ threatening, long run. It was Logan, crouched low beside the fire, his eyes catching the last few traces of the coals and fire, glowing lowly like he was a predatory cat, dangerous and menacing.

Clint slowly straightened, and said, warily, “Keep your head, Logan...”

“I'm keeping my head,” he growled, through his teeth.

He swallowed, and hesitated. Where was the effect coming from? It had been the girl last time, right, but he didn't see her, where was she – there.

The girl was just outside of the ring of the light created by the fire, just visible, digging in the bundle that Logan had made, after dinner, to wrap up the venison. She halted, immediately, when she saw him looking at her, and hesitated. The young woman looked vulnerable, looked nervous, and she licked her lips before she mouthed the words 'I’m sorry', and thrust her hands towards him.

“Wait, _no_ \- !” Clint gasped, though his knees buckled, unable to hold him up anymore. “You don't need to – we can help - “

Landing heavily on his knees, he struggled to keep his eyes clear, but it wasn't really working.

And when Logan's hands slid up under his shirt, callused fingers running up his spine, Clint didn't try to get away, he just leaned into the touch and groaned deeply.

+++

“...we have _got_ to stop waking up naked together,” Clint muttered, groaning softly.

Logan snickered, but didn't actually move.

Pushing himself slowly up off of the other's chest, Clint ran his hands through his hair, and carefully pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled slightly, but was relieved that this didn't seem to have taken quite as long as last time, because the sun hadn't quite risen over the edges of the horizon, yet, and he wasn't nearly as sore. This was a huge relief.

“You're a mess.” Logan said, calmly, folding his arms behind his head, lazily.

“Yeah, yeah, and the pheromone kid has been the one stealing the food.” He rolled his eyes, and padded towards the water, wincing slightly as he stepped into the cold lake. “So you can stop blaming me, now!” He added, calling over his shoulder.

Clint jumped, a second later, when Logan suddenly appeared beside him, and blinked at him, startled.

“What, never seen a naked man before?” Logan smirked, and started cleaning himself off in the lake. “I would have thought by _now_ , you'd be used to seeing the cock that fucked you senseless.”

“Oh ha ha, Logan's grown a back bone.” He rolled his eyes, and splashed water on himself. “Why'd you grow it _now_?”

The other just clapped Clint on the shoulder hard enough to send him nearly toppling into the lake, and headed back up onto the shore, throwing some branches onto the fire and working at getting it going again. Clint watched him for a long moment, then shook his head, and finished cleaning himself up before he headed back up towards their camp. He bent to scoop up his pants, and realized that what he was looking at _used_ to be pants.

“...son of a – Logan!”

The Wolverine lifted his head, frowning slightly.

“You destroyed my pants!” He waved the shreds of what he had been wearing at him. “What the _hell_ am I supposed to wear, now?”

Logan smirked slightly, and shrugged, tugging his own jeans on.

“...I hate you,” Clint muttered, and tugged Logan's plaid shirt on. “When we get rescued, I am going to look like some kind of nudist freak, running around in a plaid shirt and no pants. All flapping in the breeze. I blame you _entirely_ for this.”

Snickering, Logan just retrieved the venison, which apparently the girl had only taken a chunk of, instead of almost all of it like she had with the rabbit. Tearing off a piece, he tossed it to Clint, who caught it with a slight yelp. “Once the deer hide cures, we'll make you a loincloth. Then if we get hit by the chick with the pheromones, I won't actually ruin anything.”

“Yeah, and then I’ll look like Pochahontas' baby daddy or something.” Clint muttered, but sat heavily on his rock, and ate his venison, grumpily.

“Way I hear it, I wouldn't be surprised if you were.” He smirked slightly.

“Oh ha ha, join the line of idiots that thinks I’m a slut.” He rolled his eyes, ripping off part of the meat. “And for the record, I’m only gagging for you because of those pheromones or whatever.”

Logan glanced up from the meat he was eating. “...you're gagging for me?”

Clint flushed. “ _No_ , get your mind out of the gutter.”

“You said it,” he shrugged, and tore a chunk of meat off of the body of it.

“...shut up.” He muttered, rebelliously.

Logan was smirking, slightly, at him, when his expression suddenly changed. It was as though all expression had been abruptly wiped off of his face, like he was wearing a mask. He lifted his head like a dog scenting the breeze.

“Logan?” Clint asked, warily.

The other man suddenly bared his teeth, and growled low in his chest – and that was when Clint saw _why_.

The young woman, the one that had caused so very much trouble for them in the last forty-eight hours, was slowly stepping towards them. She was barefoot, and Clint wondered how he hadn't actually managed to notice that yet, in the entire time he'd seen her. She was wearing a dress that hit about her knees, and a pair of jeans under that, but her feet, with her red painted toes, were definitely bare. It was like she had been plucked out of her house, or something, and dropped into the middle of the wilderness with them. What struck Clint the most, though, was not just that she was coming closer, it was that she looked utterly terrified but absolutely resolute. He'd seen that look before. He'd seen in on Natasha Romanoff's face, back in Russia, when she declared that she was going to get away from the KGB; he'd seen it in Tony Stark's eyes, on the news, when he'd stood in front of the world and told them that he was Iron Man; he'd seen it in the line of Steve Roger's shoulders when he had declared that he was going to marry Loki. She was absolutely sure that this was going to go wrong. But she would do anything to try.

Logan kept his seat, Clint was pleased to see, though even with his jeans on, he could also see that every muscle in Logan's legs were clenched, as though he was about to burst into action.

The closer the girl got, the more Clint could feel his breath start to speed up, his heart pounding faster. It wasn't the same as when he'd thrown himself helplessly at Logan, but it gave an edge to just moving around and trying to focus. She licked her lips as she got nearer to them, and finally said, quietly, “Hello.”

“Hey.” Clint said, watching her warily.

Logan frowned, not saying a word, not yet. He just watched her, eyes narrowed.

The girl took a deep breath, and stepped closer to them, nervously, her bare feet whispering slightly on the grass. It made Clint's heartbeat speed up, but still not enough that he was helpless. “Hello,” she said, again, quietly. “You said, last night, that I don't have to steal, that maybe you could help...”

Clint glanced at Logan, not sure what to say. His companion just scoffed.

Yeah, okay, maybe Logan wasn't the best person to look to for advice. “So how come you were attacking us with the pheromones, then?”

The girl flushed, curling her toes in the dirt, looking down at the grass. “...I can't exactly turn them _off_. I just sort of always pump them out, I guess. And I can't stop. But... yeah, okay, sometimes it's worse than other times, but... I’m sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I knew it wouldn't hurt you... it doesn't hurt anyone. It just pisses them off, afterwards, usually... sometimes they thank me for it, though.”

“Yeah, don’t count on that,” Clint rolled his eyes.

She flushed even darker, shifting awkwardly. “I _am_ sorry, though...”

Logan suddenly huffed, then shifted forward, slightly, and tore a hunk off of the quail, which he had been keeping beside the fire. Frowning slightly, he thrust it towards her, and said, “It's gonna go bad, anyway.”

“ _Oh_!” The girl darted forward, like a skittish animal that had been offered food and was terrified that the offer was going to be taken away, and snatched it from his fingers before backing up again, quickly.

“....so how come you're _out_ here, anyway?” Clint asked, frowning slightly. “After all, I sorta got the impression that Magneto was sort of planning on using you as, like, a biological weapon, or something. Said he brought us out here to test it, so... shouldn't he have wanted to _keep_ you, to try and use you against other people, too?”

The girl hesitated, then swallowed her mouthful of quail. “...he probably did.”

“So?” Logan prompted.

“Well, you shot Mystique.” She said, shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Hit her pretty hard, too, and in the confusion, I sort of got lost in the mix.”

“Were you actually trying to escape?” Clint asked, considering her.

The girl hesitated.

“Just tell me, I’m not gonna bite.” He rolled his eyes, then grinned, and pointed at Logan. “ _He_ might bite, but I won't. C'mon, just tell.”

“No,” she admitted. “I wasn't actually trying to escape. I mean, maybe they weren't the best people, but... they weren't trying to kill me, either, so... at least that was something.”

“Well, we're not gonna kill you.” Clint hesitated. “Probably. At least not for now. Okay, okay, we won't kill you, SHIELD would totally massacre us if we did, dammit, they take away all our fun. Okay, so... I’m Clint Barton, this is Logan... Logan. He doesn't have a name, he's the short, dark, hairy guy with all the secrets. Anyway, you are...?”

She hesitated, then touched her collarbone, lightly. “My name is Kele.”

“Kele, hey. Sit, yeah?”

Kele considered them both for a long moment, then reluctantly settled at the edge of the little area around the fire, folding her legs under her as she considered them both. “...um... is it my fault you're not wearing any pants?”

Clint glanced down at himself, and a lesser man might have pressed their legs together and tried to pretend that he wasn't all blowing in the breeze, but he wasn't that kind of man. He just shrugged, and kept his legs casually spread the way they had been before she had arrived. Okay, the fact that he was basically half hard under his shirt was mostly her fault with the pheromone thing, but hell, she already knew she had that kind of effect on people. “Yep. He shredded them cause of you and your mutation and pheromones or whatever you call it.”

“My grandmother used to call it my influence,” she said, quietly.

“All right, then... your influence.” Clint shrugged.

Logan shifted where he sat, and he glanced over at him again. The man frowned, looking very serious, then abruptly said, “This kid really should be brought to Chuck.”

“What, Xavier?” He considered that, seriously, scratching at his jaw. “Yeah, no, I think you're right. That makes sense.”

“...so what does that mean?” Kele asked, warily.

“Means we're gonna find a way to get you to New York.” Clint shrugged.

“ _New York_?!” The girl repeated, gaping at them, shocked. “But – I’m _Canadian_ , I can't go to New York, I don't have a passport or anything, and they watch the borders now, and – and - “

“Oh, come on, SHIELD trumps border cops.” Clint snorted, and stood, finally, pressing his hands to his lower back as he cracked his spine.

“...you're going to take me with you to New York?” She asked, awed.

“Mmhmm.” He nodded, and glanced at Logan. “Provided you approve, mister claws and fur?”

“So long as you don't keep attacking us with the pheromones,” He said, steadily.

“I can't turn it off!” Kele cried, looking scared again. “They're always going, and when I get scared or anything, they get even worse, I can't _stop_ it, I can only make it stronger... I can't turn it off!”

Clint could feel it, too, he could tell that it got stronger when she got scared, because his heart beat was speeding up, his palms were starting to sweat, and that half-hard cock was swiftly becoming a _full on_ hard on, and god, Logan was _really_ starting to smell amazing. Like... amazing enough to pin him down to the grass and ride him for hours. Yeah, this was probably not a good thing.

“Calm _down_ , Kele,” Clint said, swallowing hard. It would do them absolutely _no_ good if he jumped Logan again, or if Logan jumped him, or, quite frankly, if there was any jumping of any kind. Oddly, though, he had no instinct to jump Kele. Did her mutation protect her? “Just try to breathe, just act like it’s a panic attack or something, just _breathe_.”

Kele nodded, jerkily, swallowing hard. “I’m _sorry_ , I am, it’s just – “

“Don’t apologize,” he held his hands out towards her, quickly. “Just breathe.”

It took a long few minutes, but Clint, who had felt like he’d been perched on the edge of a knife, waiting at any moment for that little push that would shove him into losing control again, slowly felt himself being pulled back from that knife’s edge. Relief surged through him, pushing that buzz of lust back to the very back of his mind. Letting out a long breath, he slowly let himself relax down onto the ground again, trying to shove the jitters down. “Okay. Okay, pretty good, Kele. Good job, calming down.”

“No one’s tried to talk me down like that in a long time.” She laughed, slightly breathlessly.

“Yeah, well, I’m awesome.” Clint laughed.

Logan snorted.

She glanced between the two, then admitted, “Most people don’t get hit more than once, to be honest, I sort of avoid… people, so that no one finds out. The only people that don’t really mind are couples, usually, you know, cause they say it’s a crazy rush for a fun weekend, or something. I’m glad you guys were together, at least, otherwise I would have been _so_ guilty…”

Logan arched a brow. “What?”

“I mean, I’m just glad you were a couple,” she explained, hugging her knees.

“Um.” Clint cleared his throat, feeling a _little_ bad about disillusioning her and making her feel guilty, but honestly, he didn’t feel _that_ bad enough that he was going to let _that_ continue. “Logan and me… we’re not a couple. Never were. Never will be. I mean, we’re _teammates_ , and all, we work together. But we’re not… _together_.”

Kele paled dramatically, looking all the more bloodless by the way that her eyes opened wide and her jaw dropped. “ _What_?! But I thought… Mystique said…!”

“Woah!” Throwing up his hands, the archer demanded, “Mystique said we were _together_?!”

“Yeah!” She yelped, horrified. “She said that they needed to test how my power worked on both humans and mutants because Erik wanted to use me as a guard! A _guard_! They just wanted me to be there in case anyone tried to attack him, so I could just make them – them _not_ attack him, cause they would just end up trying to have sex instead! So when I said that I wasn’t sure if I could _do_ that sort of thing, she said that it was okay, that it wasn’t anything to feel guilty about, because they were just bringing in a mixed human and mutant couple to test it on! Oh _god_ , I didn’t know, I’m so _sorry_!”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.” Clint took another deep, steadying breath. “Keep calm.”

Kele keened, curling in on herself.

Clint glanced at the deer meat still left, considering it for a moment, then just grinned when Logan handed him a hunk of it as though he was psychic. Taking a hearty bite of the venison, which had gotten tough from sitting out all night – and shouldn’t he really be more worried about its lack of refrigeration? – Clint chewed on it for a long moment, clearly unconcerned, then swallowed, and asked, “So do you think that Magneto and them are likely to come back here looking for you?”

Kele gave him a one shoulder shrug. “Hard to say. If I were them, I’d try to fix Mystique first and then… well, who knows. Maybe they thought you’d kill me.”

“We’re not really the killy types.” Clint grinned at her.

“You _shot_ Mystique,” Kele reminded him. “And _he_ has metal knives in his hands.”

He hesitated, then offered, “Well, no one’s perfect.”

Logan snorted, again.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, asshole.” He rolled his eyes.

“They might also figure that I’d die just by being out in the wilds,” Kele pointed out, shifting to fold her legs crossed under her, frowning slightly. “Food’s not so easy to get out here, I wouldn’t have been able to start a fire as easily as you did, it gets pretty cold out here at night…”

“So… exposure was a possibility,” Clint considered that.

“Yeah,” she agreed, quietly. “If my brother had been out here with me, he could have totally taken care of it, he really got into all that survival and hunting stuff, dad used to bring him out into the woods and train him in all the old ways. I just never really was all that interested in the traditional ways… I mean, all my grandma ever wanted to teach me was how to weave a _blanket_ …”

“Are you, ah…” Clint hesitated, looking for the right words.

“Ojibwa,” she answered, smirking, looking terribly amused by his awkwardness. “Yeah, I am.”

Looking equally pleased by the way that Clint was squirming, Logan pointed out, “Kele is a Hopi name that means sparrow hawk. It’s _usually_ a boy’s name, but either way… I rather thought it was _obvious_ when she said her name was Kele.”

“Yeah, well… how did _you_ know that?” Clint squawked.

Logan shrugged, still smirking.

“Are you _sure_ you two aren’t together?” Kele asked, sweetly, and just grinned when they both groaned. It was good, though, to see her relaxed. She was calm enough that Clint barely even felt the underlying current of lust. It hadn’t vanished but it was certainly far more manageable. “I mean it, you’d be an adorable couple!”

“Keep that up, sweetheart, and we’ll leave you here when we leave,” Clint teased. It wasn’t meant to be a real threat.

Still, Kele sobered, all the same. “Yeah? And how are you gonna get out?”

Clint blinked at her. “I dunno, _walk_?”

“ _Where_?” She shot back. “Erik picked _this_ spot for the tests for a reason, you know that? Said it was because it was sealed off, there’s no way in or out. He only knew it was here because Mystique spotted it in the helicopter… he said that no one has ever been here before. It’s impossible to get out.”

He scoffed, a bravado bluster. “Nothing’s impossible.”

“He said there was _no way out_ ,” she said again, starting to tremble – and Clint could feel his blood start to boil again, in relation to her fear. Funny, he thought almost idly, that the more scared _she_ got, the more awkwardly horny _he_ got. “We’re gonna be _trapped_ here!”

Logan stood, abruptly, and Clint thought it was rather a testament to the strength of her mutation when his first thought was _oh god yes_ , and to shift slightly towards the other man. Logan’s jaw was set, however, and his fists were clenched tightly. “I’ll go check for ways out. I’ll be back when I find a way, or when I walk all the way around. Whichever comes first.”

“You’re going to leave me alone with her?” Clint demanded, voice cracking. He wasn’t thinking straight, it wasn’t _his_ fault.

“If I don’t,” Logan growled, “I am going to be bend you over that log. You’ll be _fine_ by yourself.”

He whined.

“ _Stop that_.” The other snarled, clearly trying to keep himself calm – and clearly straining at the constraints of that very stubbornly held calm – and took a few step backs. “Calm her down. I’ll be back with a way out.”

The logical part of Clint’s brain told him that this was smart, that what Logan was doing by leaving was the smartest move. But the part of his mind that was currently in control, the animal part that Kele’s mutation took control of, _that_ part had a problem with him leaving, had a problem with Clint _not_ being bent over that log.

But as he watched Logan disappear into the trees, those thoughts started to fade, and Clint took several deep breaths, as though trying to cleanse his lungs.

“Hey,” Kele said, softly, startling him. “You okay?”

Clint took another of those deep, steadying breaths. “…yeah.”

“I’m really sorry,” she said, softly, and he could completely hear the regret and apology in her voice. Kele really _didn’t_ want to make him feel that way, like he had completely lost control of himself to his own base instincts. Really, her mutation seemed to control _her_ just as much as it controlled _them_. “Wish I didn’t do that every time I freaked out over something…”

“Hey, no biggie.” Clint sighed, and stood, getting to work on figuring out what to do with himself. “We’re all _not_ having sex right now, right?”

“Yeah,” she laughed softly, hugging her knees again.

“So? Could be worse. Maybe you oughta look into taking up yoga or something, though.”

Hands on hips, Clint considered the lake, now starting to glimmer like diamonds in the early morning sunlight. So far, he’d just been drinking straight out of the lake, and he _felt_ fine, but he was pretty sure his SHIELD trainers would have had a heart attack if they found out he was doing that. He _probably_ could get sick at any time, doing that. He had no water purification tablets, and no container to put the water in, besides, even if he did. Clearly he had to come up with a different solution. Walking along the shore of the lake, he finally found a rock that had a hollow formed in the middle of it, probably from dripping water or something, and though it was heavy, he still rolled it up towards the fire pit. It was too thick of a stone to let any water he put in it to _boil_ , but maybe they could put a fire hot stone in water, or something, to try and boil some. Though, frankly, with his luck, Logan and Kele were both probably fine cause they were mutants, and it was just going to be poor human Clint that would be screwed.

He and Kele worked for a long time at their little camp. They didn’t want to actually set anything up, not really, because Logan _would_ be back soon with a way out. But they did still want to have food, and Kele, it turned out, did know a thing or two about what they needed to do to cure that deerhide of Clint’s.

The morning, and then the afternoon dragged on, and neither of them had any idea exactly what time it was – neither of them had _watches_ – though Clint gave up on trying to boil water, and instead used his dropping-hot-stones-into-the-basin technique to make a slightly disgusting soup out of the venison and the roots of the bulrushes. It was a perfectly _serviceable_ meal, and Clint could certainly say that he most definitely _had_ eaten worse, but compared to the five star restaurants he’d gotten used to eating at, as an Avenger, it was pretty bad. (Clint was with Tony on that issue – if people wanted to repay them for being awesome and saving the world _yet again_ with food or favours, then people should absolutely be allowed to do that.)

It wasn’t until the sun was setting, throwing long and low shadows over the grass, that Kele finally said, “He _is_ coming back, right?”

Clint looked up from the spoon he was attempting to whittle out of a branch with his ceramic hunting knife. It wasn’t going all that well. “Who, Logan? Of course he’s coming back.”

She looked unconvinced. Worried.

“Look, kid…” Clint stood, setting his tools down, and rounded the fire to settle beside her, curling an arm around her shoulders. She squirmed immediately into him, and Clint squeezed Kele’s shoulder, lightly. “He might not seem it, cause he _seems_ like some kind of mountain wild man, right? But Logan is a good man. I’ve known him for years, and in the end, he always does the right thing. He’ll come back for us. Maybe the valley’s just a little bigger than we thought, or maybe he’s hunting something, or there are wolves…”

Kele stiffened, eyes widening – and his heart did a little summersault at his body’s reaction to her fear.

“That was a _joke_ ,” he said, quickly. “A _pack_ of wolves couldn’t stop him.”

“…are you sure?” She whispered.

“Very sure. I’ve seen the guy take down a Sentinel by himself. Just slashed the thing to ribbons. A pack of wolves would _never_ be a threat for Logan. He could kill a pack of wolves, a swarm of bears, _and_ all the elk in the whole valley, and _still_ be fine. He’s the one with the metal knives in his hands, remember?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, relaxing again.

Relieved, he let out a long breath, and said, “Clearly we need something else to think about, to distract us. So, how about I tell you about what happened in Budapest?”

Long after Kele fell asleep, laying on her side, hands pillowed under her head, Clint sat up watching the dark valley. His eyes were on the woods, waiting to see when Logan reemerged. It was cold, now that the sun was down, and he wished he had some kind of jacket or sweater, or _hell_ , even pants, but if he could withstand the cold to wait, then just fine. He would stand up, every half hour or so, to toss another branch onto the fire, wanting to make sure it didn’t die down. It nothing else, it was there for warmth, but he also wanted it to remain a beacon for Logan, so that he could find his way back to them. He was _tired_ , but he focused on staying awake, the same way he would if he were on a stakeout or sniper mission for SHIELD, by focusing on keeping his breathing even and his eyes sharp. He tried to keep track of the passing minutes by counting, but that made him more tired, so instead he focused on cataloguing random facts and information, to keep himself focused. Based on his attempts at time keeping, he figured that it was near to three thirty when there was finally movement at the tree line.

“Finally,” he muttered, standing up.

Only that _wasn’t_ the wild man coming towards the fire, it was a lower movement, closer to the ground. Clint froze, trying to determine what it was.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding,” he breathed, and bolted for his bow.

Kele had freaked out, earlier, about his joke about wolves, and he’d only been able to calm her down by promising that Logan could totally take care of it. Of course, naturally, when wolves _did_ attack, Logan wasn’t there for the protecting. You know, he thought, as he notched arrow to string and readied his bow, he wasn’t sure if this was some kind of irony, or just a case of the universe kicking him when he was down.

Clint didn’t want to waste arrows trying to shoot them from here – the light was bad, the distance was dangerous – but he also didn’t want to let them get into a _better place_ for him to shoot at them. That was dangerous for both himself and Kele. But what else was he supposed to do? He wasn’t Wolverine, he couldn’t fly at the wolves with handy dandy built in claws a flying, he had to rely on weapons that he _had_. Which meant making sure that he also didn’t run out of these damn wood and ceramic arrows that he’d brought. Which meant that he had to play this to his strengths.

Thanking the moon for being bright and nearly full tonight, Clint began to move from the remains of the fire towards the lake. It was brighter there, he just hoped he’d be able to see better.

It went against every instinct to be loud as he moved, but he needed the wolves to follow _him_ , not Kele.

Helpless sleeping woman might smell more delicious, but he was banking on his size making the more tempting target. So he knocked rocks and deliberately stepped on twigs and breathed as loudly as he could – and the wolves turned towards him, more intrigued by sound than smell, apparently, and began stalking towards him. They didn’t just slink slowly like they had before, though, they picked up speed now, running towards the newly acquired prey.

“Shit,” he breathed, and began firing.

Clint sort of liked to think that he was a good archer. In fact, he was quite proud of the fact that he was pretty much the best archer around. (If he did say so himself – and he did.) And he was good even when the conditions weren’t exactly what you might call ideal. And _these_ conditions, these were certainly not ideal. They weren’t even close to ideal, the moon casting over the water was the only source of light, and though Clint liked to think that he could have shot these wolves even if the night was pitch black and there wasn’t a trace of light, it still made things less than ideal, all the same. He fired as fast as he could, the long practiced movement of reaching back, pulling out an arrow, flicking it forward, knocking it to the string, drawing back, aiming, letting go – it sounded like an awful lot of work, and he supposed that it was, but it was second nature to him, it was instinct, and he was good at it.

The wolves made a sharp yelping sort of sound, almost like dogs, when they got hit. He didn’t _want_ to have to kill a pack of wolves that were doing nothing more than just trying to eat and do what nature told them to do, but Clint really didn’t like the idea of dying, and he sort of saw it as his duty to make sure that Kele didn’t die either. That’s what he had to do.

One of the wolves got close, close enough that he had to wheel about to fire properly at it – and he got it, arrow embedding itself deep in the wolf’s throat and sending it down.

The only problem was, while he took out one, another had looped around the back of him. Clint spun around to fire at this wolf, but it was faster than him – which was not something that he admitted lightly – and he let out a shout of pain as teeth, sharp and tearing and ripping, tore at his left wrist. Letting out a cry of anger, pain shifting to just fuel his rage, he shifted the arrow from the string to his hand, and stabbed it into the neck of the wolf as though he was wielding a knife, now. The wolf let out a sharp bark of pain, then slumped away from him, fangs red with Clint’s blood, but at least it wasn’t tearing at his arm anymore, so he swung around, knocking the arrow back to the string, and firing again at another of the wolves.

Clint refused to focus on the fact that his arm was now screaming in pain at him, that it felt like he might have gotten something pretty important damaged inside his arm, because holding up the bow didn’t felt like it normally did, his fingers didn’t seem to want to curl around the grip properly, but he could deal with that later. When he _wasn’t_ in mortal danger, he could assess the damage, he could figure out what the wolf had managed to do to him.

Cause right now…

The fact that he was bleeding profusely was a problem for more than just the fact that he was bleeding and that was bad.

It was even worse because there were wolves circling around him that seemed to get even more frenzied at the scent of fresh spilled blood.

Lovely.

Two more wolves went down in the span of just a few moments, and he caught himself wondering, fleetingly, exactly how large this fucking wolf pack was – wasn’t there only usually like four or five in a hunting group, what was going on, come on Animal Planet, don’t fail me now – but he didn’t have the time to count the animals attacking him, he had to focus on the fact that he _was_ being attacked, that they were trying to _eat_ him, and he swore as his feet hit water. They were forcing him back, the wolves were trying to pin him. Sure, he could try and swim away from the wolves, but he couldn’t shoot as he was swimming, and knowing his luck, the wolves would be much better swimmers than him.

_Fuck fuck fuck_ … he tried to get along the edge of the lake, trying to get to a better vantage point.

One of the wolves slammed into his side, as though he was being tackled, and he staggered, trying to keep upright. If Clint went down, they would be on him in a moment, and he would be dead. Clint knew it, so he had to keep upright, had to keep on his feet, had to protect himself, had to protect Kele…

There was an absolutely bone-chilling howl of animalistic rage, suddenly, and Clint thought to himself, dizzy now from blood loss, _great, the last thing we need right now is a fucking bear_.

Only it wasn’t a bear.

It was Logan, silver claws catching the moonlight and glinting on them as he slashed at the wolves, tearing at them, and within seconds – which Clint thought sort of made the actual struggle he’d been having to even keep upright and alive this entire time look like absolutely nothing in comparison to this – the last of the wolves were dead, and suddenly Logan was right there, and Clint was startled to find himself not actually standing anymore.

“…you’re carrying me,” he said, sort of startled, as he found himself being carried towards the fire.

Logan didn’t say anything, actually, which Clint wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. The animal man just carried him across towards their little camp, and lay Clint down on the ground beside the log they’d been using to sit on.

“…ow.” Clint grumbled, slightly, slumping back against the log, letting his bow fall to the side – he’d worry about the condition of it in a moment, he swore, he just sort of wanted to try and catch his breath – and struggled out of his quiver, letting it thump, nearly empty of arrows, beside the bow. “All right, well… never repeat this to anyone, because I don’t plan on letting anyone know you’re right, but… thanks for saving my bacon back there. Turns out wolves are pretty fucking awful, and… what are you doing?”

Still not answering him, Logan tugged the white wife-beater he was wearing off, and ripped it along the seams on the side. Shifting forward, he took Clint’s arm in his hands, and with a startlingly gentle touch, began to investigate the wound.

“…right. Yeah, that’s a bite… don’t think the wolves had rabies, do you?”

Letting out a huff of breath, Logan finally glanced up at him, face serious, brows furrowed, and said, shortly, “No.”

“Oh. Well. Good.” Clint sighed slightly, leaning back again, closing his eyes. “Because really, all things considered, I think the icing on this shit cake would be that I got _rabies_.”

“Just because they weren’t rabid doesn’t mean they didn’t give you something else,” he grumbled, quietly, and shifted to retrieve some of the water that Clint had boiled, earlier, to begin to clean the wound. Clint didn’t want to watch him work, because frankly he didn’t really want to see exactly how bad the bite had been, so he just grit his teeth, and leaned back, and waited for Logan to finish. And also, he didn’t want to ask Logan _why_ he’d felt motivated to help him, dammit. Didn’t want to know.

“You’re not making this better, Logan.” Clint said, sort of stubbornly.

“What’s going on?”

He groaned, letting his head fall further back against the log, bonelessly. Kele waking up and freaking out was not going to make any moment of this any better. “…go back to sleep, Kele.”

“I’m not going to go back to bed!” She squalled, and he had to open his eyes finally to look at her. Her eyes were wide, and she looked absolutely terrified, like a wild thing about to fly into a terrifying rage, perhaps. Terror made sense, considering there was blood on Logan’s arms from killing the wolves and from trying to patch Clint’s arms up, and Clint himself was bloodied from the original wound and from the fight. Made sense that she’d be scared, he sort of figured that most teenagers would be terrified under the circumstances. Only problem was, of course, that Kele wasn’t exactly _most teenagers_ , and as she freaked out, he could feel his heart begin to beat harder, and he groaned softly. Blood loss apparently wasn’t going to stop the helpless _oh god I want to have sex so bad right now_ erection he was getting.

Logan growled, lowly, his fingers tight on Clint’s wrist. He hadn’t even managed to finish bandaging the wound, yet. “ _Kele_ …”

“What _happened_?!” She howled, voice cracking in fear, terrified. It made sense, teenagers didn’t handle stress well, or so everything Clint had ever heard said so. Maybe that wasn’t actually true, but that’s what he’d heard. So it made sense to him. But at the moment, he was having difficulty thinking about, well, _anything_ other than Logan’s fingers on his wrist and the way he wanted to pin him to the grass and rub _all_ over him. Again. God dammit. “You’re all bloody and – and what _happened_?!”

“ _Kele_!” Logan said, sharply, his shoulders tense. “If you don’t get away from us right now, he’s going to fucking bleed to death!”

“Harsh,” Clint gasped, keening as he arched. “God, _Logan_ , fuck me…”

“Go!” The wild man barked.

She gasped, a strangled sort of cry, and bolted up from the ground, bare feet slapping against the dirt as she ran away. Clint didn’t watch her go, but he could feel the effect of her mutation getting further away from him, could feel his heart rate slow down, his breathing even out. He groaned, softly, slumping further down to the ground, and murmured, “Okay, Logan, seriously, it’s not that I don’t want to have sex with you, cause, you know, that’s worked out pretty fucking awesome for us, so  far. But seriously, let’s at least get this bandaged up, first, right?”

The other snorted, and after a long moment of just breathing to settle himself down, he began washing the wound again. “ _You_ were the one begging me to fuck you.”

“I was under the influence at the time,” he said, loftily, lifting his head, finally, opening his eyes to look at Logan.

The other glanced at him, brows furrowed. “What?”

“I’m looking at you. Is that illegal, now?” Clint arched a brow, smirking as the other rolled his eyes, and just went back to work on his arm. Logan’s shoulders were hunched, as though he was trying to curl in on himself, as though he was hiding. “So… is there a way out of this valley?”

The other chuckled, lowly. “Yeah.”

“Oh good.” He groaned, relieved, running his hand through his hair as he watched the other man work, smiling sort of fondly. What was he supposed to do, this man had sort of saved his life more than just the once, now. “Well, glad to hear that. I was afraid we were going to be stuck here forever, to be forced to create some sort of strange and savage society with just the three of us. Figured we’d wait til she was a little older, then we’d have to start populating the valley, and by the time the Avengers manage to find us and rescue us, we’ll have a little society separate from the rest of the world, where we all have this weird immortal patriarch who takes care of the whole clan cause he’s the father of like, at least half of them…”

“You get like this every time you lose a lot of blood?” Logan arched a brow, and began wrapping the remains of his wifebeater around Clint’s arm, a rough bandage.

“…yeah, probably.” He shrugged, sighing as he closed his eyes. “How’s it look, doc? Do I get to keep the arm?”

“Idiot,” he muttered, and finished tying off the bandage. “There. Done.”

“Thanks.” Clint smiled faintly at the other man, and shifted forward a little, checking it. Logan _had_ bandaged it nicely, all things considered, it was cleanish anyway, and he didn’t seem to be bleeding through the fabric right now. Good start. “So… now that Kele is off hiding wherever she’s hiding, because you are _terrifying_ when you’re pissed off, wild man, maybe now’s the time to take advantage of the privacy?”

Logan looked up, brows furrowed for a moment, and said, “You still feeling it? Is she coming back?”

He blinked, then shook his head. “No… naw… no, I’m not… I’m not feeling it anymore. Not, I mean… _her_ thing.”

The other lifted his jaw slightly, looking down at Clint for a long moment, then let out a soft _hn_ sound, and nodded.

Then leaned down, and kissed Clint, firmly.

 

+++

 

“Morning, Kele,” Clint said, lightly.

The girl slowly slunk closer to him, and crawled up to his side, laying down beside him, imitating his pose. They lay side by side on their stomachs on the grass, arms crossed in front of them, and he could feel her eyes on him, could feel her actually watching him instead of focusing on the water like he was.

“…you gonna say it, or are you going to just lay there in silence?” He glanced at her, finally, considering the teen. Her eyes were red and puffy, as though she’d been crying for hours, and hadn’t really gotten a whole lot of sleep. He wasn’t surprised, really, between the crappy sleep they had been having the last few days on the ground, and the attack by the wolves, and the shock, and the being chased off by Logan just because of a mutation she’d been born with and had no control over. Must suck, to be her. He could completely understand. “Come on. I don’t bite. I’m not a wolf. You can say it. How much do you wanna murder Logan right now?”

She laughed, breathlessly, and abruptly shifted to curl against his side, hugging him tightly. “I don’t wanna murder Logan.”

“Sure you do, everyone wants to murder Logan at some point,” he rolled his eyes, reaching up to lightly brush her pin straight black hair back behind her ear. “Hey. Look at me, okay? We don’t blame _you_ for what happened. Those are just wolves. Wolves do their thing. They like trying to eat people. That’s what they do. Are _you_ okay?”

Kele nodded, snuffling slightly.

“God, stop crying, kid, we don’t have enough clean water as it is, if you keep crying, you’re going to get dehydrated, and that’s about the worst thing that can happen when we’re in the middle of the wilderness. C’mon. Buck up. It’s all gonna be okay.”

“I couldn’t even _help_!” She protested, wailing slightly as she said it, and dammit she really needed to calm down. Take some meditation classes with Bruce Banner, or something, learn to handle her mutation and not just freak out and make Clint – and presumably others, not just the pair of them – go sort of nuts and sex crazed. “I wanted to take care of you, I wanted to be able to help bandage you up, I just – I just wanted to be able to say _thank you_ for saving me from the wolves, and – and I _couldn’t_! I can’t control myself at all!”

“Okay, well… try and calm down now, okay? I need you to be calm.”

Kele keened, jerking back from him.

“…well, okay, that’s not calm, and that’s also not what I said. I didn’t say ‘go away and have another freak out’, I said ‘I need you to be calm’. So. How about you try and calm down for me, okay? Remember? We did this before.” He smiled at her, trying to keep his hand steady as he squeezed her shoulder. “You were able to calm down before when I told you to breathe. Breathe, okay?”

She nodded, jerkily, eyes still wide as she tried to calm down.

“Yeah, okay, you’re getting better at this,” he said, calming down slightly, feeling the oppressive need to _have sex now no matter what the cost_ begin to slowly fade, getting easier to handle. She was actually getting better at calming herself down. “There we go… that was a lot faster than last time, wasn’t it? Feel better?”

Wiping at her red eyes, she murmured, “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Good. Now. Let’s stop talkin’ about it.” He smirked, and ruffled her hair with a laugh. “Look, we made it through the day. We made it through the night, too. No one is going to be permanently damaged, Logan bandaged m e up all good, and look, he’s cleaning the wolves right now. We’re gonna be fine.”

She snuffled, smiling crookedly, and said, “So how come you aren’t cleaning the wolves, then?”

“Ugh. They bit me. I get an opt out option. Clearly.” Clint crinkled his nose, and rolled heavily onto his back, stretching. Logan’s plaid shirt was tied around his waist like a weird skirt, and it may not be stylish, but it worked. “So there’s some good news, by the way. Logan found a way out of the valley.”

Kele let out a shout of joy, bolting up, making him look sharply up at her, startled. “What?! Then what are we doing just sitting here?!”

“Waiting for you to come back from your escape in the woods?” He arched a brow, looking up at her.

“…oh.” She muttered, flushed, and relaxed a little.

“Yeah.” Clint smirked, and pushed up off the ground, standing. He stretched again, then hummed, and headed down towards the edge of the water. He glanced back once, but he needn’t have worried – Kele was, in fact, following him. Resting his hands on his hips, he called, cheerfully, “Hey, Logan! Our wayward prodigal teenager has shown up, so we can get the hell out of Dodge. Think the furs are finished enough to bring?”

Logan straightened, hands bloody, and headed to the edge of the water to rinse them clean. A moment later, he returned, and said, “They’re not going to be _nice_ to carry around, they’ll stink, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Good.” Clint kicked at the head of one of the furs, impressed that Logan had actually managed to leave the head on the pelt. “I sorta wanna spread one of these assholes out over my floor and walk all over them every time I come home at the end of a mission.”

“You would.” Logan said, dryly, then looked at Kele, considering her seriously. “You up for this trip?”

“…yeah.” She murmured, nodding.

“It’s not going to be easy.” He said, seriously, crossing his arms over his chest. “There are probably going to be a lot of cold nights, it’s going to be a long trip, and it’ll probably hurt. A lot. And when we get back to civilization, people are gonna want to find out how you’re able to do this. They’re gonna want to study you, too, so – “

“Woah, woah… way to be super stupidly cheerful, Logan.” Clint held up his hands, clearing his throat. “Let’s try not to scare her into never ever coming with us… cause… we _want_ her to come with us. We _want_ her to come to civilization where she can get the actual care that she needs instead of being bandied off to every villain that comes along and offers her a bit of hope, okay? I mean, if nothing else… maybe she can become an Avengers adjacent person, or something. People start being assholes, Kele just steps in and goes _boom_ and suddenly all of the HYDRA agents are having a hilarious awful orgy or something, and SHIELD can just wander in and arrest them at their leisure.”

“…I’m not sure I like the sounds of doing that,” Kele said, after a moment.

“Oh come on, sweetheart, it’ll be fun.” He grinned.

“ _Fun_.” Logan repeated, bending to scoop up the pelt that had the head, and dropped it heavily on Clint’s head. He didn’t even seem to mind that Clint yelped and spluttered at him, and just bent to scoop up the others, rolling them in to a rough sort of pack, and slinging them over his back. “I already buried the bodies. Let’s get moving. We’ve already disrupted this area too much, by being here. These animals shouldn’t have had to die. We need to go.”

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine, today?” Clint arched a brow, shifting the pelt so that it hung over his shoulders like a like a cape, tying the front legs to keep it from just sliding off his shoulders. “I’m going to smell terrible, later, you all know that.”

“Yes.” Logan agreed, heading forward, to begin walking around the edge of the lake, not looking back to see if they were following him or not. “You definitely will.”

“I think he likes that,” he muttered, sort of conspiratorially to Kele.

She giggled, and murmured, “I think he does.”

 

+++

 

A few hours ago, Kele had been startled by the yowl of a bobcat, despite Logan attempting to explain that it was not really a screaming woman that was just what they sounded like they were really bobcats, and when the stupid thing had kept screeching, she had absolutely freaked out. Which, naturally, wasn’t good.

“God,” Clint groaned, his arm tossed across his eyes, sweat cooling on his skin, “I hope the kid didn’t get eaten when she ran off.”

“She’s hiding in a tree about fifty yards away.” Logan muttered into Clint’s hair, and even now, his fingers were sort of idly brushing up and down Clint’s back, in odd sorts of patterns and whorls that made him think that the Wolverine was writing words on his skins with his fingertips, but it felt pretty good, so he wasn’t going to argue, anyway.

“Fifty yards? God, she probably heard everything.”

“Well,” the wild man pointed out, sort of idly, “It _is_ her fault.”

Clint snorted, and reluctantly lifted his arms, only to discover that with the awkward way that Logan was holding him, he could actually really only see the underside of the other man’s jaw. Not all that helpful, when trying to gauge his expression. “Just because it’s her _fault_ doesn’t necessarily mean we should be scarring her for life.”

“Is our having sex scarring you for life?” Logan said, suddenly, sitting up.

Clint sort of flopped out of his arms, landing with a thump on the mossy ground, grumbling. Rolling his eyes, he pressed his hands to his lower back, cracking his spine, then stretched. “Well, I guess it’s gonna _have_ to scar me, since it can’t scar _you_ , and knowing your propensity for amnesia, you probably won’t remember me for long, either. You’ll forget and it’ll just be me remembering the whole damn embarrassing thing. Must be nice to be you.”

“It’s _not_ , actually.” Logan muttered, bending to scoop up his jeans, tugging them on.

Clint didn’t bother standing up and gathering up his clothes, because quite frankly, he _didn’t have_ a whole lot of clothes, and even if he did, he didn’t mind being naked. He’d get dressed before Kele showed up.

Probably.

Now who was scarring the kid for life?

“Yeah, so you say,” Clint said, instead of getting dressed, folding his hands behind his head as he looked up at the sky through the leaves of the tress. “I dunno, I’d be okay with being immortal.”

“Hn.” Logan dropped the wolf pelt on Clint’s head, again.

He seemed to like doing that.

Snickering, Clint sort of wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape, and did shift, now, crawling to the remains of the fire so that he could try and stoke it again, try to get the once cheerful fire burning once more. It hadn’t gone out completely, thank god, so even in the light of just the stars and the waning moon, he was able to get the fire going again. As the little flickers of flames licked at the new wood he shoved at it, he realized that Logan was right behind him again, and he wondered when exactly the man had stopped triggering his ‘danger there’s a stranger in your personal space’ alarm. It had taken Natasha a lot longer than this to stop setting off mental alarm bells. He looked back at the shorter-but-broader man, curiously. “What’s up?”

“I’m not going to forget.” He said, simply.

“Sure you’re not,” Clint laughed, rolling his eyes. “You have a chronic memory problem, remember? Or did you forget that, too? You don’t remember a thing before, what, 1987? Even I remember the early eighties. There are certain things I’d like to _forget_ about the early eighties,” he added, with a snigger, “But at least I still remember them.”

“I get flashes,” the other man grunted, as he lowered himself to sit on the other side of the fire.

“Oh yeah?” Clint poked at the fire with a stick. “What kind of flashes?”

“I was in Japan during World War Two.”

He blinked at the wild man. Logan’s eyes were focused on the fire, not on him, but his fingers were quietly clenching and unclenching as though he was trying to keep himself calm, or something. As though sensing Clint’s eyes on him, though, he lifted his head, arching one of his brows.

“What?”

“I’m just trying to picture you dressed up in the Cap’s dress uniform, being all… American soldier in World War Two-y. it’s sort of a weird mental image.”

Logan huffed, rolling his eyes. “Thanks for that.”

“Hey, no, you can’t get mad at me for that,” Clint laughed, grinning. “I mean, lookit you. You’re sort of rough around the edges, y’know what I mean? I could totally see you on the battlefield, all dropping your gun to tear people apart with your claws and all, dirty and bloody. I just… I’m trying to picture you as a soldier in a dress uniform, you know? All slick and… polished. Think you ever did the polish thing?”

“I ain’t ever gonna look like Rogers.” Logan snorted.

“Wasn’t my question.” He grinned. “Did you ever look all polished? That one of your flashes?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head, then glanced up. “Hey, kid.”

“…am I still projecting?” She asked, voice slightly tremulous and watery. “Is that how you knew I was coming? Did – did you feel me coming?”

“No.” Logan said, as though it was the most common thing to say. “You stink.”

Kele yelped.

“He’s totally right, kiddo.” Clint said, smirking slightly as he tossed another chunk of wood on the fire. “I don’t have super senses and I can still smell you coming. Besides, even if we couldn’t, you’re loud as shit, stepping on every tree branch between here and there. So… whether you stunk or not, we’d still be able to figure out you were coming. So, ah… no. Long story short, you’re not projecting. Do try not to use that information as a reason to freak out and start projecting. Give my poor aching ass a chance to recover.”

“Thought _you_ were the one trying not to scar the kid for life.” Logan said, as he started unwrapping the rabbit they’d cooked earlier, offering a piece to first Kele, then another to Clint.

“I’m not scarring her for life by saying that, man, she knows what her freak outs do.” He rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his rabbit. “Mmm, not bad. So yeah, she _knew_ we were going to be having sex, because what the hell _else_ would we be doing when she freaked out, then ran away? I dunno, probably the same thing we do every time she does that. Really. No scarring there.”

“Yeah, still not sure you had to give her _details_ , asshole.” Logan pointed out.

“Mm. Well, I guess you might have a point there.” He pursed his lips, considering that. “You don’t mind, do you, Kele?”

She flushed as she settled down on the log beside him, awkwardly nibbling on her food. “Uh… no. Not… course not. I, ah… I don’t mind.”

He groaned. “You could not have sounded less convincing if you had _tried_ , you know that?”

“Sorry,” Kele shrugged, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Maybe in the future, if you don’t want to scar the kid, you can keep your stupid details to yourself, hm?” Logan pointed out, and rose from the fire, running his hand through his hair. “I’m going to go get water.”

“Right.” Clint nodded, popping the last bite of rabbit in his mouth.

The other paused just at the edge of where the firelight faded, one hand resting on his hip, and said, as though it was the most logical question in the world, “Aren’t you coming with me?”

He blinked at the wild man for a moment, then leapt to his feet, forgetting that he was naked except for the wolf pelt around his shoulder, but even Kele’s yelp of ‘Oh god, Clint, you couldn’t have _warned_ me?!’ stopped him from darting forward, bare-assed and laughing, to catch up to the other. “Yeah, sure. I’ll come with you. Kele can take care of herself.”

 

+++

 

It took two weeks.

That’s what was so insane, Clint hadn’t thought that there was enough of _any_ part of the world, much less parts of North America, left where a person could walk for two solid weeks and not actually encounter any sign of real human life. Now, granted, he thought that there was a chance that Logan had deliberately avoided mining camps or military bases or any place that someone might see them and react _badly_ , but still. Two weeks, and they finally got to a small town.

Kele was the one that they sent into the little general store to get some pants or something for Clint, because they sort of figured that if he didn’t get some clothes before he actually went into town, people were gonna run them right back out again.

“…these are the worst pants I’ve ever tried to wear,” Clint said, suddenly.

Kele looked up from her hamburger, blinking at him. Her hair was hanging lank and greasy around her face, looking sort of sad, but at least they were sitting in a little café now, instead of sitting on a log in the woods eating whatever it was that Logan had hunted down for them today. “…I tried to find you good pants, how is it my fault that the store had like, three kinds of pants? These were the only ones that I knew would fit!”

“They’re _yoga pants_.” He said, picking at them. “And they’re pink.”

“Yeah, well… they had a sports section. Sue me.” She rolled her eyes, and took another bite of her hamburger.

Beside him, a hulking sort of presence despite the fact that he was a very _short_ man, Logan snickered. He was sitting on the outside of the bench of their little booth, effectively pinning Clint into the corner he was sitting in now, but he didn’t mind, not really. His bow was laying on the floor at his feet, he had a new black sweatshirt and the awful pink yoga pants on – and wasn’t it nice to wear _clothes_ again? – and he had a plate of food that had been properly cooked in a real kitchen and had _cheese_ in it. Fantastic. He could handle having Logan act weirdly over protective by making sure that _Clint_ was the one in the protected position – because yes, he was trained in military tactics by fucking SHIELD, of course he knew that if three people were sitting in a booth, and one that was more muscular and more powerful and physically larger decided to sit on the outside with someone else on the inside of the same bench, that they were in a position of protection because they could either keep the person from sliding out of their seat or keep other people from getting in towards them – instead of Kele, but who cared. He didn’t mind.

Right now, all he really minded – except for that awful pink pair of yoga pants – was that he had the most amazing hamburger in his hands, and oh good god, that first bite was probably the most fantastic thing _ever_.

There was an _egg_ in it, oh god, so fucking good.

This would be the ultimate hangover food, hamburger with bacon and hot sauce and a sunny side up on it, he thought, eating almost ravenously now that he was finally eating it, forgetting all about his pink yoga pants in interest of just getting food inside of him. Another bite got an awkward shock of a burst sunny-side yoke in his mouth, but that was all right, he could handle that, and he just licked the mess off his fingers, and kept eating. When he finally finished the burger itself, he finally leaned back, and realized that both of the others were giving him an odd sort of look.

“…what?” He asked, swallowing the last bite.

“You were treating that hamburger like it was a sexual experience, or something.” Kele said, at last, blinking at him. “Seriously. You were making little moaning sounds.”

Clint huffed, and lifted his head. “Well, it was nice to have an experience with something that smelled _good_ for once.”

Logan cuffed the back of his head, not even seeming to care when Clint swatted at him.

“You’re all assholes,” he rolled his eyes, and started to eat the sweet potato fries that the waitress had suggested when he’d ordered his food, earlier. Normally, he’d have been flirting with a woman like that, but at the moment he felt like gross and greasy, and until he had a shower, there was no way he’d be flirting with anyone. Maybe after he spent a week in a shower, and then a month in bed, then he’d feel up to winking and flirting and acting like himself again. At least in that sense. He was pretty sure his sense of humour was still on point.

“So, um… where are we staying tonight?” Kele asked, suddenly, picking at her own plate.

“New York,” Clint said, without hesitation.

She blinked at him. “…um. What? We’re in _Alberta_ , Clint. In Canada. Remember? Did you hit your head?”

He arched a brow, popping a fry in his mouth. “Have you ever known me to act like I got clonked on the head?”

“…yes.” She said, immediately. “Usually when you wake up in the morning. You’re usually all groggy and weird and you act like you’ve been clonked on the head. I mean, you usually get over it pretty quick, but…”

“Travelling with you is dangerous.” He pointed at the teenager. “No one is supposed to know that I’m like that in the morning. People I’ve _slept_ with know less about me than you apparently do. Clearly this is a problem. Logan, tell her I’m not like that in the morning.”

“You’re exactly like that in the morning,” he said, calmly.

“Okay, you are not helpful, and I am clearly never going to you for help again. All right, fine. No. I have not been hit on the head. But yes, we will be staying in New York tonight.”

“How?” She scoffed. “It’s a long trip from one side of the continent to the other, plus there’s the whole issue with border issues, and having to get clearance from the government before they can get us out of the country, since I’m supposed to stay here and you guys probably weren’t even supposed to be in the country in the first place, so what are we supposed to – “

There was a bright, cheerful jingle as the door at the front of the café opened, then a man’s voice boomed, loudly, “Friends! It has been too long! At last we have found you!”

“That’s how,” Clint grinned, and straightened up, waving cheerfully. “Heya, big guy. You got sent to find us, huh?”

“Indeed I did, friend archer,” Thor said, voice still booming over the tiny café, leaning on the end of the bench that Kele was sitting on, seeming to take over the whole of the space and silence just by being there. People were turning to stare, gaping at the god, but he didn’t even seem to notice. He beamed at them, cheerfully, then glanced down at Kele, who was sort of trying to shrink away from him. “Ah! This must be the fair young maiden I was told about! Allow me to introduce myself, my lady,” he stepped back, and bowed, deeply, sweeping out his arm in a broad gesture. “I am Thor, of Asgard. I am at your service.”

“…hi.” She squeaked.

Clint snickered, and grinned at the god. “So… you come on your own? We flying back via that rainbow road, or did someone come in a plane?”

“Oh ye of little faith,” another voice joined the conversation, and Tony Stark clapped Thor’s arm, cheerfully, leaning on the bench beside Logan. “Of course someone came on a plane. Holy _crap_ , you may look worse than I did when I got rescued from that cave. That is a _very_ terrible beard, Barton. Never grow a beard again. We’ll get you home and get you a razor immediately.”

“Cause that doesn’t sound ominous,” he drawled. “So. We going home, then?”

“Yeah, let’s get you home.” Tony grinned.

 

+++

 

Funny, how ‘get home’ was the biggest thing in Clint’s mind for almost three weeks, but now that he was here, he was starting to question his own sanity at thinking that this was a good idea.

Clean shaven again, finally, feeling clean and finally wearing clothes that were his that _fit_ properly again, he had gone to the kitchen. He just wanted some coffee. However, walking through the hallways was like walking through a mine field, as he stepped on no less than two Legos, tripped on one soccer ball, and at one point, got hit in the back of the legs by someone’s plastic Captain America shield. When he whirled around to glower at whoever was responsible for that one, there was a rapid darting of someone tall _and_ someone short darting back around the corner, and he let out a long breath. Of course Tony Stark was aiding his daughter in whipping things at defenseless Avengers.

It had been much more peaceful in the forest, with the wolves and Kele and Logan being all glowering and grumpy.

Weird, the prospective that life gave you, huh? He’d never thought of it that way, but sometimes it was true. Dammit. He didn’t want to be gaining perspective on life, he wanted to go back to using his beautiful _metal_ bow that Magneto wasn’t liable to steal from his fingers, to be able to explode and tase and whatever the fuck he wanted to his targets – which, by the way, he was looking forward to being able to fight again. It had been way too long since he had been able to fight some assholes, to shoot at Modok’s men, or take out some HYDRA agents, or… whatever he wanted. Whatever mission he was sent on. It had been way too long since he had been allowed to shoot bad guys, dammit. He missed shooting bad guys. He was good at it. He thought he was pretty damn good at being an Avenger, really. So yeah, he wanted to go back to shooting at people again.

So far, they hadn’t really managed to actually go anywhere that he could shoot at anyone. No one had attacked, no terrorist strike had been called… thus far, the Avengers just sort of hadn’t done _anything_.

Except for a public appearance, that was, but he’d managed to effectively miss that one.

It would have been one thing if everyone had just decided that Clint wasn’t allowed to participate in battles until he had managed to “recover” from his two weeks in the wild on a wild SHIELD sanctioned goose chase, because then he simply would have ignored their orders and found a way to sneak along anyway. But it was just that nothing had actually _happened_ , so there was no orders for him to ignore. That almost made it worse. It was as though the whole villainy world had just decided to take a simultaneous vacation. Not even Magneto had shown up to demand revenge for his favourite mutant companion being shot or something. Clint had even briefly entertained the idea of asking Loki of going back to villainy for old times sake, just for an excuse to hunt _someone_ down, but he sort of figured that this would likely end in bad things. Loki might get a taste for the bad life again, and as much as he might hate the daycare-ish nature of the mansion these days, he’d never actually wish for Maggie and Joseph’s dad to become a bad guy again. The kids didn’t deserve that shit.

Shirtless, he padded into the kitchen, and made a beeline straight for the coffee machine, relieved to discover that there was still coffee in the pot. He didn’t care how old it was, it was still coffee.

“Hey, Clint.”

“Mmm. Hey, Cap.” He said, lightly, leaning his back on the counter as he sipped at his cup of liquid fuel, gratefully. “What are you up to? The kids are all running about the halls like crazy things.”

“Making lunch,” Steve said, motioning to the stack of brown bread that was spread out over the cutting board like he was trying to make food for an army. Well, he supposed, he _was_ making food for an army, a whole army of children. Brown bread, too, Clint noticed. Trust the Captain to defy his own damn ‘white bread’ image to go for the healthier option. “Want me to make you a sandwich, too?”

“Naw, I’m not that hungry,” he waved it off, yawning.

“You _do_ seem to be tired, though,” he said, lightly, laying out the bread neatly, in little stacks of two.

“I’m exhausted,” Clint admitted, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the cupboards. “No matter how much I sleep, I seem to be tired, still. So… yeah. I’m tired. Must be all this civilization. It’s exhausting.”

Steve laughed, digging in the cupboards. “Sure, that’s what it is.”

“And I’ve been pissing like a _race horse_ ,” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “I swear, I’ve never had to go to the bathroom like this before… every twenty minutes, it feels like, I have to go! I mean… the SHIELD docs checked me out, when I came back, they said I wasn’t sick, but… maybe they missed something. I mean, exhausted like this, running to the bathroom…”

“Maybe you’ve got the flu?” The other frowned, considering that as he dug a knife out of the drawer, and set to making sandwiches. “That wouldn’t show up on any of the SHEILD exams, would it?”

“No, I guess it wouldn’t.” Clint admitted, sipping at his coffee. “Are you going stir crazy, in this house? We haven’t had anyone attack us in days, there’s been no enemies, no crazy schemes… I sort of feel like I’m losing my mind, seriously. Can we get a good old fashioned someone-trying-to-blow-up-New-York, or _something_?”

Steve snorted. “If it helps any, HYDRA tried to wire up the Empire State Building to use as a massive transmitter into space while you were gone?”

“That does not make me feel better in the slightest, that means I missed it.” He rolled his eyes.

“Good point. Sorry, Clint. I’m okay with a little bit of silence for a little while. Gives me more time to spend with Loki and the kids. It’s kind of nice.”

“Ugh,” Clint stuck out his tongue, pulling a face. “Mushy sappy stuff. Of course you’re thrilled to spend time with your fairytale husband. Of course. You two are seriously too sugary sappy to even really exist, I think you’re a huge figment of all of our imaginations. I just spent three weeks with a wild man, it’s weird to be around your sappiness.”

“How was that, anyway, spending three weeks with Logan?” Steve asked, lightly.

“Weird. But he’s not so bad, once you get over the growling.” He smirked, grinning at the other over the lip of his coffee mug, then hesitated, nose crinkling. “ _God_ , what are you _putting_ on those sandwiches?”

Steve blinked at him, knife in hand. “…peanut butter?”

“Well, I hate to tell you this, Cap, but it’s off.” He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth and nose, as though trying to block the scent, shuddering slightly. “God, it smells awful.”

All but sticking his nose into the jar, Steve sniffed at the peanut butter. “It smells normal to me…”

“Ugh, it’s not. It’s definitely off.” Clint shook his head, and went to take another sip from his coffee, only to discover that the awful smell of the peanut butter had completely turned him off of his coffee, and he reluctantly dumped it out in the sink before dropping the mug into the dishwasher. “Though I guess that might be because I’m sick… god, I’m going back to bed. Correction. I’m going to go piss, and _then_ I’m going to bed.”

“Lovely.” Steve rolled his eyes, sighing softly. “Do _try_ not to say stuff like that around the kids? I’m trying to prevent them from repeating those kind of words…”

“The mouth says what it wants to say, Cap. You can’t censor reality.”

“I can _try_ to censor reality until they’re at least… thirty.” Steve said, with a faint quirking of the lips, as though trying to stifle a grin. “It’s worth a try. I would _like_ to create a world in which my children never have to see the bad things in life.”

“…you know you’re _Captain America_ , right? And that your husband is _Loki Laufeyson_?”

“I’m _aware_.” He rolled his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try, Clint.”

“Yeah, all right, all right, I get it.” Clint patted the Captain’s shoulder, then hesitated, biting his lower lip and swallowing, hard. “…right, apparently peanut butter is the most disgusting thing in the world, and if I don’t leave this room right now, I’m going to _puke_ on the lovely sandwiches you are making for the – yeah, I’m just gonna go. Now. I’ll, ah… talk to you later.”

“Go to bed!” Steve called after him, watching as Clint headed out of the room. “Get some rest.”

 

+++

 

“Have you developed an allergy to shirts, Clint?”

“Love you too, Pepper,” he said, sarcastically, and headed straight for the coffee machine again. He needed coffee. _Really_ needed coffee. He’d tried to go to the gym this morning, and do his usual work out with Steve, who’d been really taking him through his paces the last couple years, but he’d been so _wiped_ that eventually, with a worried look on his face, the Captain had sent him upstairs to get some rest. Instead of rest, naturally, he went to get some coffee. All he needed was coffee, right?

“No, seriously. In the week you’ve been home, I don’t think I’ve seen you with a shirt once.” She pointed out, tapping her pen on the stack of papers she had spread out across the kitchen table. Why was she working on paperwork here instead of at the office or her own place, anyway? She didn’t live here like the Avengers did. “So it’s a valid question. Developed an allergy?”

“I spent three weeks in the wild without a shirt,” he shrugged, sipping at his sweet ambrosia – okay, it was barely even considered _coffee_ , really it was more like ‘hot brown’, but it was caffeinated, and that would do – as he leaned back against the cupboards. “I got used to it. Or something like that.”

Pepper arched a perfectly manicured brow. “And you were running around without a shirt for three weeks because…?”

“Because… I had no shirt… and there are no stores in the wilderness?” Clint blinked at her, cupping his coffee mug like a shield that would serve to protect him from the world around him. Possibly even from Pepper, if that turned out to be necessary. “I mean, I dunno about you, Pep, but I’ve never had any luck finding a Walmart in the mountains. Lots of wolves, yeah. But no Walmarts.”

She sighed softly, but was smiling indulgently. “I was wondering what happened to your shirt, actually.”

Clint cleared his throat. This was where things got sort of awkward. As it happened, Professor Xavier was the only person that he and Logan had actually explained Kele’s mutation to. It had been one of the most awkward conversations of his life, sitting there squirming in front of the man’s desk, explaining that he’d sort of been forced to have sex a few… well, he’d lost track of how many times, actually, but at least dozens. And with Logan, just to make it even more embarrassing. So the Avengers – and Pepper, because really, she was an Avenger, far as anyone was really concerned, instead of ‘Avengers Adjacent’ like the newspapers joked – had absolutely no idea of the embarrassing consequences of SHIELD sending Barton along as backup to Logan when Magneto had extended his loaded invitation. So naturally, as a result, she had absolutely no idea that Clint had no shirt for three weeks because Logan had sort of passionately torn it off of him so often that there was absolutely no chance of ever salvaging the damn thing.

Little awkward to explain now, he thought.

So he did what he did best, under the circumstances.

He bullshitted it.

“It got destroyed by a wolf. See, we ended up getting attacked by this huge pack of wolves, nasty things, and I had to take them on by myself. One got my arm, see?” He held up his arm, which wasn’t bandaged anymore, but was still definitely scarred. That, at least, he wasn’t lying about. “Anyway, fangs in shirts don’t go so well, and it ended up ripping it right off of me, and, well. It was a tragic loss, but it went down fighting.”

“Hm.” Pepper laughed, softly, shaking her head as she stood, heading for the coffee machine herself. “And that’s why you don’t wear a shirt now? Because you got _used_ to it?”

“That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”

She smiled faintly, pouring herself a mug of coffee. “Clint… I’m your friend, right?”

Clint blinked at her, arching a brow as he sipped at his coffee, a little confused by the question. “Sure, Pep, you’re my friend.”

“Then you wouldn’t lie to me, right?”

“…I guess not?” He said, slowly. Lying by omission was an entirely different thing than outright lying, and okay, so he was lying about _why_ his shirt had gotten destroyed, but he hadn’t been lying about the fact that he got attacked by wolves, and he certainly hadn’t been _lying_ when he chose not to tell her that he and Logan had had more sex in three weeks than he could remember having in the whole rest of his life. Those were just the sorts of things a person really didn’t _have_ to explain to their friend if they didn’t want to. Sex lives were private, right? “No, I guess I wouldn’t lie to you, if you really wanted to know something…”

“Okay.” Pepper leaned on the counter beside him, smiling softly at Clint, and said, lightly, “So why won’t you wear a shirt?”

He groaned. It would kind of be a shitty thing to do if he lied to her _now_ , right? “Okay, cause as if this wasn’t already the most awkward thing in the whole world…. I’m not wearing shirts cause my chest hurts. Like… it’s… chafing.”

“Chafing.” She repeated, as though she couldn’t quite believe the words she was hearing.

“Yeah, you know, like… ugh. Like my nipples hurt, okay? Every time I put it on, it’s like all I can feel is them _rubbing_ , and it _hurts_ , and… I’ve been taking Tylenol, but what kind of problem is that to have, you know? I did a Google search, and that was about the most useless thing I’ve done ever…”

“Oh Clint,” she said, with a soft and almost affectionate sigh, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, I’m not _dying_ or anything.” He grumbled. “It’s just…. Nearest I can figure, it’s like when marathon runners get bleeding nipples cause they’re running and their shirt rubs… and for the record, those pictures of people with bleeding nipples, those are _terrifying_. Ugh. Anyway, that’s what I think it’s like. It just _sucks_.”

Pepper pressed her fingers against her mouth, laughing softly against her own hand. “…please tell me they aren’t _bleeding_.”

“Oh god, Pep, thanks for that thought, now I’m going to be convinced it’ll happen to me…” Clint groaned, piteously, and poked at his own chest. “They’re not bleeding, they’re just achey and sore and wearing shirts makes them hurt even more. So. I’m going to avoid shirts unless I have to wear them, and no one can tell me that I have to wear them, because I’m a dude, and it’s perfectly legal for me to walk around shirtless.”

“You’re a unique man, sometimes, Clint.” Pepper said, lightly.

“Yeah, I know.” He grinned, sipping at his coffee again. “I think that’s my favourite part of me. I’m just so damn different.”

 

+++

 

“Hey.”

Clint cringed slightly, at himself. Wow, okay, he was normally suave and in control and prepared for things like this, but instead of sounding suave and in control and prepared just now, he sounded like an absolutely idiot. A kid with a crush talking to a celebrity, or something. Mentally hitting himself upside the head for this, Clint instead sat down on the end of the couch, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Hey yourself,” Logan said, knocking back another swallow of his beer.

“Where have you been?” He asked, trying to sound casual. It wasn’t that he _was_ a kid with a crush, it was just… things were different suddenly. They were back in civilization – hell, better than civilization, they were in the _Avengers Mansion_ , which was like three steps up from just ‘civilization’ – and it was sort of awkward suddenly. For three weeks, he knew to deal with things by just not talking about them, and things just _happened_. But they were back here, acting as though nothing was out of ordinary, but no one knew about what had happened. So Clint didn’t know how to gauge the situation, exactly. He didn’t know how much he _could_ say without risking that he’d said too much, or what he could mention without the wild man’s hackles going up and freaking out. “Haven’t seen you around, much, lately.”

Yeah, Clint decided, this would all be a hell of a lot easier if they could just go back to the mountain, thanks. He’d just like to bring a suitcase of clothes, this time.

“Decided to take a break.” Logan shrugged, swallowing another mouthful of beer. “Get away from the team for awhile. Wasn’t like you needed me anyway… if you’d needed me to fight, I would have come. I got that stupid card.”

“Heh, yeah.” He relaxed back into the couch, finally. Made sense. Clint could deal. He was actually _good_ at dealing, when it came right down to it. “I can’t blame you. Been a little _weird_ , being back here.”

“Hn.” The Wolverine snorted.

Clint smirked, imagining all the things he would have been saying, were he in Logan’s place. Things like ‘oh, you think this is hard for _you_? Try having lived in the wild your whole life, being thrown into civilization for awhile and forced to deal, then being thrown back into the wild, getting to live in your element, then being ripped right back out again’. Okay, so maybe Clint sort of embellished on the things that Logan might be likely to say based on his understanding of what little they knew about the wild man’s life, but still. Under the circumstances, he thought it rather fitting. “So… what’d you do during your break? Cause I pretty much ended up sleeping through most of mine.”

Logan frowned slightly. “You _do_ smell different. Are you sick?”

“…do I smell sick?” He asked, warily.

The other shrugged slightly, as though not quite sure what to say. Not sure if maybe he _was_ sick, perhaps, but didn’t know. Well, it wasn’t like Logan was a mutant MRI machine, or something, he was just a wild man that happened to have a sharper than normal sense of smell.

“Well, SHIELD doctors checked me out, they said I’m healthy as a horse. No rabies from the bite, no beaver fever from the water, no flu from being naked most of the time and cold, no… ill effects. I _could_ have a low sperm count, or something, but… they didn’t end up checking that.”

Logan snorted.

Perhaps emboldened by the fact that the other didn’t get angry about him _essentially_ mentioning the one thing they sort of _weren’t_ mentioning, Clint smirked, and said, “Frankly, that’d be the first thing I’d want to look into, if I was a doctor looking after sexy ol’ me, but I guess it could be worse. Either way. The doctors say I’m fine, say that I must just be having a hard time adjusting, or something, so… I guess that’s how I deal with it. By being exhausted.”

“Sounds shitty.” The other shrugged, draining the last of his bottle, and thumping it down on the coffee table before plucking another pair of them out of the case beside the couch – why was there a case of beer beside the couch, Logan? – and offering one of them to Clint.

“Yeah, feels pretty shitty, too.” He agreed, cracking the cap off the bottle, gratefully, and taking a deep long swig of it. Logan must have just gotten the case out of the fridge, it was still cold. “So,” he motioned at the tv with his bottle. “What’re we watching?”

“No idea,” Logan snorted. “I can’t find a remote, and apparently the damn computer system runs the tv now because of Tony getting really drunk and building a new system in the middle of the night…”

“…of course he did.” Clint snickered, sipping at his beer as he considered the tv. “Looks like a Kung Fu movie.”

“Hn. Nothing wrong with a good Kung Fu movie.” He said, after a moment.

“Naw. I like ‘em.” The archer agreed, grinning at the other man, eyes lingering for a moment as he considered him. Funny that Logan had looked more at home in the woods, than he did right now. He looked out of place here, amongst the perfectly neat hanging vertical blinds, among the clean lines and technology and order. Logan had belonged among the trees and the lake and the stars, not the hustle and bustle of city and action and traffic and noise. “Kung Fu movies… they’re not about the story, not really. They’re about the action and the fighting. Which, okay, action movies are awesome.”

“Yeah.” Logan shrugged, and fell silent.

Clint cleared his throat, and shifted back in his seat, watching the screen. He’d said it just a moment ago, and he meant it – far as he was concerned, Kung Fu movies _weren’t_ about the story, which was good, because he had no freaking clue what was going on in this one’s story. No clue. Some drunk dude was fighting a monk, or something? It didn’t matter, he didn’t think. Especially since, as much as he usually enjoyed watching action movies, his attention was still on the man sitting beside him. He didn’t like it being awkward like this, this stilted not-quite-normal interaction that had been so easy just days before, why did it have to be –

Abruptly, Clint choked on his beer, and jerked forward in his seat, thumping the bottle down on the table. Some of the beer sloshed out of the mouth of the brown glass bottle, he’d put it down with so much force, but his attention was not on the mess he was making.

“What the hell?” Logan blinked at him.

“I… am freaking out.” He said, seriously, clenching his fists on his knees. “Clearly. Okay. Seriously. I need to stop thinking.”

He had to stop thinking. _Needed_ to. Because oh good god, he was thinking about how he missed the lazy intimacy they had shared for almost a month, and about how he wanted to go back to that, and oh _god_ that was getting _way_ to close to having mushy stupid emotions that he did _not_ want to be having, because son of a bitch, caring about people beyond teammates and friends fucking _hurt._ It ended up in disaster every time, and with _Logan_ of all fucking people, that was going to hurt a whole lot worse than just a _disaster_. Caring about Barney got him burned. Caring about Natasha got him burned. Caring about Wanda got him burned. Caring about _anyone_ got him burned, he _knew_ better than that.

So Clint did what Clint usually did – which was deflect his _holy crap I need to stop thinking about everything_ into a completely different direction.

He twisted to Logan, and said, “Wanna fuck?”

Logan blinked at him, beer bottle almost at his lips, as though frozen. “…what?”

“I mean, we don’t have to.” He said, quickly, clearing his throat. Shit. This was supposed to combat the awkwardness, not make it worse. “I know Kele’s not here, so we don’t have anything to blame it on, or anything, no excuses, but… ah… yeah. Want to? I got a room down the hall, pretty sure I still got a thing of lube in the drawer, which is more than we had before, so…”

Oh god, he was rambling. He needed to stop rambling. Time to go climb a metaphorical tree. He did better with distance, saw everything better from far arrow’s range.

Only then Logan threw his assumptions for a loop, just as he was half standing to bolt, when he drained the last of his bottle of beer, and stood. “Yeah, sure.”

Clint blinked. “…sure?”

“What, you’re taking it back now?” The other arched a brow. “Make up your mind, Barton.”

“Shut up, of course I’m not taking it back,” he swatted at the other man’s arm, mentally grumbling about the fact that _hot damn_ Logan was still stupidly made of muscles, and slid off the couch, properly, heading out of the living room and down the hall. “I’m pretty sure the walls in this place are actually sound proof, so this way the secret isn’t out, or anything, but… I mean, I _assume_ we’re still not exactly parading about what happened.” Clint shrugged, opening his bedroom door, and mock bowing to let the other man step inside.

Logan snorted, stepping inside, waiting until the door closed behind the archer, then started stripping almost immediately.

“…huh. Not wasting any time, are you?” Clint said, sort of distractedly, leaning on the door, watching him.

“Did you want romance?” He arched his brows.

“No. _No_. What do you think I am… Steve?” He rolled his eyes, and stepped forward, up to the other man, reaching out to rest his palms on the other’s bare shoulders. Logan stilled, watching him with an unreadable sort of expression, as though waiting to see what Clint was going to do. For his part, Clint slid his palms down the other’s arms, tracing the lines of his muscles. “I just… I kind of want to see what this is like… without the haze.”

“The haze?” Logan repeated.

“Yeah… when Kele kicked her pheromones into high gear, when we were all… if we don’t do this we’re going to fucking _explode_ … there was a haze. It was like I couldn’t see things quite straight, like I got tunnel vision. I mean, I _know_ tunnel vision, I know how to use it, that’s what I’m used to, with shooting. But it was so _intense_ , unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. There was just _you_ and nothing _else_ , and… well. That made for some pretty fucking fantastic sex, but I sort of want to know what it’s like to do this cause I _wanted_ to, not cause I _had_ to.”

“So… you want some romance.” Logan arched a brow, smirking slightly.

“Okay, seriously, I am going to cut you off, no more awesome Clint sex for you, asshole.” He rolled his eyes, but just laughed when Logan slid his arms around his waist and hauled him off the ground, tossing him onto the bed. Bouncing on the mattress, he snickered, already shirtless anyway due to his complete aversion to them – fuck, his chest still hurt, okay? – and wriggling out of his jeans wasn’t such a big deal. “Nope, back off,” he laughed, when Logan crawled onto the bed. “Don’t want you anymore.”

Logan paused, palms on the bed on either side of Clint. “…seriously?”

“ _No_ , not seriously, you asshole, come here.” He rolled his eyes, crooking his fingers into the other’s belt loops, pulling him forward. “I didn’t mean seriously, okay? I asked _you_ to come into my bed, remember?”

“Don’t joke about shit like that,” he muttered, but leaned forward, and kissed Clint almost furiously, firmly.

He groaned, curling his arms slowly around the other’s neck, sliding his fingers into Logan’s hair. Thus far, this was seeming pretty freaking fantastic still, even though there was no Kele waiting in the wings to pump them full of hormones and desperation and the unrelenting _need_ to be naked and curled with Logan or frankly anyone. Except that, funny enough, he _did_ need to be with Logan, right now, he _wanted_ to be with him, right now. He wanted this as much as he had a few weeks ago.

“Oh god, still _thinking_ ,” he groaned, against the other’s mouth.

Logan snorted, and thumped his forehead onto Clint’s shoulder for a moment. His shoulders shook, faintly, then he lifted his head, and said, with a glint of laughter in his eyes, “This is one thing you _didn’t_ do before.”

“Yeah, okay. Shut up,” he said again, kissing Logan again, scratching at the back of the other’s skull. “I asked you if you wanted to fuck, not if you wanted to complain about my talking in bed.”

“Deal,” the other said, and started squirming Clint out of his jeans.

Clint kept cataloguing everything, as they progressed. It was supposed to be a conscious list of ‘let’s see what this is like versus what it was like the first time when we rutted in the grass like animals’ but he sort of lost track about a half dozen times, and had to stumble his way sort of wobbly kneed back to the list so that he could add another point. Mentally, of course, because the way that Logan kissed his way down his sternum, with mutton chops brushing and tickling at his skin, that ended up making him too weak kneed to have even attempted to stand in the first place. And then when the wild man curled his tongue around Clint’s dick… well, holy fucking _shit_ , he almost forgot his own goddamn name.

Okay, but as Logan set about trying to suck his brain through his dick, Clint keened and arched and gasped and curled his fingers tight in the other man’s hair as he added _well I think I’m going to remember this a little better_ to his mental list.

He’d take fucking _pictures_ if he needed to, but son of a bitch, this was definitely awesome.

Lifting his head, Logan licked his lips – and Clint sort of felt a moment of regret for the other’s healing ability, if only because the other didn’t get the debauched yes-I’ve-been-blowing-a-dude look that some people got – and said, with a smirk, “Decided yet?”

“Decided what?” Clint panted, head in the pillows, chest heaving.

“On whatever it was that made you invite me to bed,” he smirked, shifting forward, crawling up so that he straddled Clint’s hips, and kissed him again. Clint groaned, curling his arms around the other’s neck again, and didn’t even argue when Logan slowly broke the kiss to murmur, “Because I am absolutely convinced that you didn’t just invite me to bed for shits and giggles.”

“Mm. I’d rather not have shits and giggles in bed…” he murmured, nipping at Logan’s lower lip.

“Shut up, archer.” Logan drawled, dragging his lips down Clint’s jaw. “So. Have you decided, then? On whatever it was?”

“No,” he grumbled. He probably ought to be arguing, pointing out that there was no _decision_ he was making, and what the fuck, there _wasn’t_ supposed to be a conscious decision, but okay, maybe there was. Maybe there was a question of ‘can we do this without being forced to’, and ‘do I _want_ to do this without being forced to’, and ‘maybe do I want to keep doing this without being forced to’. But the more he started thinking of those maybe decisions the more he started to realize that this was getting fucking close to emotional territory again and oh god he was _not_ going there. Nope. Not going there. “And I’m not _going_ to make a decision.”

“Bullshit,” he said, kissing Clint’s chest.

“Ow. Can we… not?” Clint winced, pushing Logan’s head down a little. “Not the chest.”

The other lifted his head, brows furrowed. “…what is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just… sensitive.” He grumbled, slightly flushed. They were having _sex times_. Not talking-about-things times. “So leave it alone. Everything else is fair game.”

Logan looked at him for a long moment, as though gauging his expression, trying to figure out what Clint wasn’t actually saying. He smirked after a moment, as though seeing something he liked in the other’s eyes, and drawled, “ _Everything_ else?”

“No kinky shit,” he smirked, himself, but rolled over anyway, and dug in the bedside table top drawer, finally tossing a half empty bottle of lube at Logan. Wasn’t even surprised when the mutant caught it, either, snapping the cap open. He _did_ laugh, though, when the other caught his hips, and hauled him backwards, pinning him on his stomach. “Oi! I thought I said no kinky shit.”

“Pretty sure you also said everything else was fair game.” Logan hummed, kissing his way down the other’s spine.

Clint groaned, softly, letting his forehead thump down on the pillow. “Okay, yeah… pretty sure I did – woah!”

“Woah?” Logan hummed.

He laughed, breathlessly, curling his fingers in the blankets, arching his spine slightly when Logan twisted his finger again. “Yeah, _woah_ , cause apparently that feels _really_ good with lube…”

“It felt good without lube, too.” The other reminded him, lightly, crooking his finger inside Clint, and laughing softly when the archer bucked up on the bed again, letting out a high pitched, breathless cry. “But I guess you’re into it a little more like this…”

“Oh yeah,” he groaned, softly, writhing.

“Hope you don’t like these sheets,” Logan said, with a faint, teasing growl, and Clint arched when he felt more of the cool lube drizzle down the cleft of his ass, sliding around Logan’s diligently working fingers, rolling down Clint’s balls and dripping down onto the sheets. That was a _lot_ of lube, actually, probably enough that Logan could have fucked him six times over, or something. Definitely all of what was left in the whole damn bottle, anyway.

“…they’re Stark’s anyway, he built the place.” Clint said, panting slightly. “So is this your way of saying ‘we’re using up all the lube so this is the only time we’re having sex’?”

“This is my way of saying ‘I’m being _gentle_ ’,” Logan growled, in his ear, then scissored his fingers. Clint hadn’t even realized the other had been working a second finger in, he’d been so focused on everything _else_ all at once, and okay, yeah, that was _awesome_ , because he arched into the other’s touch, and let out a breathless gasp that might have sounded suspiciously like the other man’s name but wasn’t of course because he wasn’t all sensitive and romantic and shit and he wasn’t the kind of guy that breathlessly gasped his lover’s _name_ okay? “That work for you?”

“Works for me,” he gasped, breathlessly.

Apparently, though, Logan was trying to drive him absolutely, helplessly, maddeningly wild. Yeah, okay, Clint got _prep_ , he was all for prep, but this was… _damn_. This was almost too much, this was slick and wet and it _should_ feel dirty and strange but it _didn’t_ , it felt like Logan was making him wild. He was working to stretch Clint open, scissoring deliberately, but all Clint could think about was that this was _incredible_. He couldn’t stop writhing, almost embarrassed by how needy he was feeling, but it felt too _good_ right now to be embarrassed by it. He could deal with the embarrassment later. Right now, all he could think was that Logan was trying to make him fucking insane. Too much and not enough.

“ _Logan_!” He howled, finally, fingers fisted in the blankets, toes curled. “Just _fuck_ me!”

There was soft laughter over his shoulder, and Clint just growled, almost breathless, trying to pull him closer.

“I am going to shoot you if you don’t fuck me!”

“Bullshit,” Logan said, almost deceptively gently – but then he was sliding slowly into Clint, easy and smooth thanks to the huge amount of lube, and Clint forgot about the frustration and the grumpiness, because he was arching his spine back to meld against Logan’s chest, tearing at the blankets and gasping for breath and begging him for more more more please oh god Logan more just fuck me Logan _more_ as he did.

It wasn’t like it had been, before. It wasn’t like when they were forced into doing it, because then it was a frenzied sort of feverish thing that he could remember, but had a lot of difficulty picking details out of it. This was slower, which was the first marked change. It was still desperate, and it was still powerful, and it still settled as a hot and heavy weight of frantic desire in his lower belly. It still made white stars spark behind his eyes, it still made him press up against the other’s chest, enfolded in Logan’s arms and not even caring that he was being ridden because it felt fucking _good_ , it felt powerful and like a lot more than just a fuck, and _no_ , he wasn’t going to go there, god dammit. He was enjoying sex without attachments, thank you. But it was slower, by far, it was gentle and almost achingingly slow, and though he begged Logan to _just fuck me, harder_! the other man seemed bound and determined not to.

And all right, maybe it _was_ worth it.

Because when Clint’s orgasm _did_ hit him, it completely blindsided him, a growing thing that seemed to get bigger by the second until he didn’t think it actually could feel any better, and Clint’s vision actually whited out.

He came to, a few moments later, and unclenched the fingers he’d apparently squeezed desperately tight. He’d passed out? Really? When was the last time he’d actually passed out because of an orgasm? Ever? Had he ever actually managed to pass out because of an orgasm before now?

He groaned, softly, and licked his lips. “…Logan?”

“Hey,” the other murmured, quietly.

Clint shifted, then realized that he was laying in the other’s arms again, and as sensation seemed to slowly come back to him, Logan was drawing the inane designs on his back like he had been, before. He didn’t realize that a person could actually have an orgasm hard enough that he couldn’t even feel his body. Damn. “Hey. Thought maybe you’d disappeared or something.”

“Naw. Still here.” Logan smirked against the top of his head, enough that he could feel the movement on his scalp. “So. Decision made?”

“Shut up, I’m not making any decisions. I’m enjoying the afterglow.”

He snickered.

Clint sighed, softly, curling a little closer to the other man, and no, god dammit, he was not cuddling with Logan, he was simply enjoying being close to the man that had apparently just given him the most mind blowing orgasm of his life. And no, he hadn’t made any decisions. He was refusing to decide whether or not he enjoyed this enough to contemplate doing it again.

Decisions like that didn’t need to be made. Dammit.

Letting out a long, deep breath, Clint murmured, “So. Lube sort of made that awesome.”

“And before?”

“Oh, it was definitely awesome before, too. But this was also awesome. Different sort of awesome, I guess.” Clint shrugged, tapping the other’s collarbone, lightly, eyes half lidded.

“Awesome.” Logan repeated.

“Oh shut up.” He rolled his eyes, and rolled finally out of Logan’s arms, stretching, then sliding out of bed. His knees almost went out from under him, first step, and he quickly had to catch himself on the bedside table. Whoo. Clearing his throat, he straightened up, then paused as he looked down at himself. “…there’s blood on my legs.”

The other man sat up in the bed, Clint’s sheets that were apparently Stark’s anyways wrapped around his waist. “Yeah.”

“…how the fuck am I bleeding?” Clint turned to look at him, blinking. “You spent like an hour stretching me. And then you went slower than fucking anything. How am I bleeding?”

“I don’t know.” Logan shrugged with one shoulder.

“…there were no claws involved, were there?” He asked, suspiciously.

The Wolverine gave him a dull sort of look.

“Hey.” Clint held up his hands. “It had to be asked. So how exactly is it that we managed to do it how many dozens of times all rough and tumble and with things like deer fat as lube – and let’s just agree to strike that from the record, because that’s really fucking gross by the way – and you didn’t manage to make me bleed that whole time, and then we have sex _once_ in the real world with enough lube for the goddamn _Hulk_ to fuck me, and I bleed?! How is that a thing?” Clint ranted, waving his hands at Logan. “Explain how that makes sense!”

“You were bleeding before.”

Clint froze, blinking for a long moment, then slowly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed. “…what?”

“You were bleeding before,” Logan said again, brows furrowed. “That’s why I was careful.”

He gaped at the other man, then flailed. “And you didn’t think that was the sort of thing that maybe you should _mention_?!”

“It wasn’t fresh blood,” he said, as though it was perfectly natural to be able to tell how fresh a person’s blood was. “I assumed you already knew, and assumed it was from someone else.”

“Someone – _you_ didn’t even manage to make me bleed and you’re the fucking Wolverine!”

Logan arched a brow. “I’m very good at what I do.”

Clint groaned, and flopped back on the bed, bonelessly. “That is the worst joke ever. That also, depressingly, actually makes a twisted sort of sense. Right. Okay. So clearly _something_ is not right in here. What the hell makes a person have _anal bleeding_?”

The animal man crinkled his nose. “Can we not call it that?”

“That’s what it’s _called_ , caveman. Seriously. What can cause that?” He twisted to look at Logan, curling and uncurling his fingers in the now-ruined sheets.

“…rough sex?”

“No, because that wasn’t rough, and the last person I slept with was you. Do _not_ give me that look.” He pointed at Logan, frowning.

“I didn’t give you any look.”

“You were thinking about it,” he glowered at him, then dropped his hand. “Okay, so not that. And not hemorrhoids, before you say that.”

Logan sighed, a sort of long suffering sound. “Could be an STD or something?”

“What?” Clint yelped. “I am not _diseased_ , and if you thought I was, why would you stick your dick in – of course. Healing thing. You can’t get sick. You don’t give a shit.” He slumped back down to the bed, closing his eyes as he sighed, heavily. “The thing is, it’s just the first of many bizarre symptoms. Bizarre Symptom number one, if you will.”

There was movement on the bed beside him, and Logan’s hand settled almost deceptively lightly on Clint’s chest. “Is this Bizarre Symptom number two?”

Clint winced, licking his lips. “Yeah. What causes a sore chest?”

Logan brushed his fingertips in slow, gentle circles across his chest, and Clint let him, relaxed. It actually helped a little. “Did you get punched a whole lot? Is your… vest… thingy… too tight?”

He huffed. “It’s _Kevlar_ , and it’s not too tight.”

“It’s a mystery, then.” He shrugged. “Bizarre Symptom number three?”

“I’m _exhausted_. I swear, I can’t get enough sleep.” Clint groaned.

“…catching up on the sleep you didn’t get for three weeks because you were either trying to sleep on the ground or because I was fucking the sense out of you?”

Clint hesitated. “That… actually makes perfect sense. Okay. Bizarre Symptom number three dealt with. Number four – I have to piss like a race horse. Constantly.”

“Constantly?” Logan repeated, arching a brow, glancing downward as though gun shy.

“Practically.” He said, sarcastically.

“Well, you’re drinking other things than contaminated water. Body’s dealing.”

“…yeah, okay.” Clint nodded, scratching at his jaw. He wouldn’t have normally thought that a rational conversation with _Logan_ of all people, would calm him down. Of course it didn’t hurt that he was actually _talking_ , and not just pointing and grunting, but still. “So why does the smell of peanut butter make me wanna puke? I _like_ peanut butter. Ask Coulson, I used to just eat it by the spoonful out of the jar in the SHIELD lunch room. Okay, mostly because it pissed Coulson off, but still. Used to really like the stuff. Why does it disgust me now?!”

Logan frowned, then finally shook his head. No answer.

“So clearly Bizarre Symptom number five is the weirdest of them all, and together, they add up to…?” Clint waved his hands.

He shook his head again.

“I think it means the SHIELD doctors are idiots.” Clint shifted to sit up, and grabbed the jeans that had been dropped over the side of the bed, wriggling into them. “Do I have your go-ahead to tell them what happened if it matters?”

Logan sat up, watching him. “Never said we had to hide it.”

“Yeah, but… you know what I mean.” Clint ran his hand through his hair, taking a deep breath. “It’s sort of awkward, right?”

The other shrugged again.

“You are being entirely unhelpful,” he informed Logan, seriously, but still leaned over the bed, and pressed his lips to the others for a long moment, a firm but not all that intimate of a kiss, then leaned back again. “So I’m gonna go get Bruce to give me the work up, figure out what’s wrong. I presume you can show yourself out?”

“I _do_ know how to work a door, yeah?” Logan rolled his eyes.

“Dunno why I keep doing this,” Clint snickered, leaving the room. “Damn hormones.”

The door swung shut behind him, leaving Logan inside – where the wild man almost immediately stood, and started rifling through one of Clint’s drawers.

“If you’re trying to find blackmail fodder I hide it better than that.” Clint called, grinning as he leaned back in the door, hand still on the knob.

“A shirt, but that works too,” Logan shot back, tugging on a grey t-shirt that was probably loose on Clint – whose own muscles were absolutely nothing to sniff at – but which clung to Logan like a second skin. “But if you’re offering your deep dark secrets…”

“Gotta do better than that, wild man,” he called, and headed out again.


	2. Chapter 2

“Still not a medical doctor,” Bruce was muttering, mostly to himself, as he inputted commands into the computer, watching as it began analyzing the samples he’d inputted.

“I’ve seen your SHIELD case file, Banner,” Clint called, rolling his eyes as he sat on the end of the paper covered bed, sort of perched at the head. “You were acting as a doctor in India for years.”

“The difference is that in India, it was a _humanitarian_ effort.” Bruce said, dryly.

“This is totally for the good of humanity,” he countered, then stifled a wayward yawn. “So, doc, what’s wrong with me?”

“I’m having JARVIS run a standard work up on your blood and urine samples right now,” Bruce waved at the glass screen, where a thousand bits of information that Clint didn’t even want to understand streamed past. “I’m not sure what you want me to look for, Clint, because the SHIELD doctors said they found nothing unusual, and so far, everything looks – “

There was a long moment of silence before Clint lifted his head. “Banner? Everything looks…?”

“Normal,” he murmured, but the way he was darting forward to check a different screen told Clint that _maybe_ not everything was exactly normal.

Muttering to himself, under his breath, Bruce’s fingers seemed to fly across the keyboard, eyes on the screen as he leaned back so that he could look at it through his glasses, frowning. He didn’t say anything aloud, though, despite his muttering, so Clint slid off the bed, and padded barefoot over to the scientist.

“What is it?” Clint frowned. “Am I dying?”

“I need you over here,” Bruce said, suddenly, abruptly turning and marching Clint backwards, poking at the edge of the bed for an MRI machine. A strange thing to have in a person’s house, surely, but when Tony Stark had promised Bruce Banner an enticing scientific lab to get him to come stay at the Avengers mansion, he had spared no expense. “I need to get a better picture of your insides.”

“My _insides_?” Clint demanded, rusing to lay down on the little bed. “Why? What’d you find?”

“Please.” The doctor said, face serious. “Lay down.”

“Not until you tell me what you found, Banner,” Clint crossed his arms across his sore chest, stubborn.

Bruce let out a long breath, pushing his glasses back up. “Your urine test registered positive for pregnancy.”

For a moment, Clint’s guts clenched in a sort of visceral horror of _oh god it really is fucking catching_ and his heart leapt into his throat – and then he remembered one extremely important fact, and he yowled, “In _case_ you haven’t noticed, Banner, I’m a _man_ , and I will fucking take off my pants if you need me to – “

“It means your beta human chorionic gonadotropin levels are high, Clint,” he cut the archer off. “In men, it’s often an early indicator for testiticular cancer.”

Clint’s guts clenched again, sharply, but even though he let Bruce guide him to lay down on the little bed, the nasty clenching didn’t release this time. “Is – is that possible?” He asked, his own voice oddly flat. “Would it explain any of my other bizarre symptoms?”

Bruce hesitated, then nodded, quickly. “Lay still, I need it to scan. And yes. It would explain a lot of the odd pain you’re having, and possibly the fatigue and the frequent urination…”

“Oh god, you’re actually serious, aren’t you?” Clint said, feeling like his voice was tight in his chest as he stared up at the “ring” of the machine as it slowly moved over him, scanning, eyes on the proud Starktech logo on the side in order to avoid looking at Bruce. “I might have fucking _cancer_?!”

“Well… we need to rule it out.”

“And an MRI will do that?” He asked, voice tight.

Bruce hesitated. “…hopefully.”

“ _Hopefully_ ,” he repeated, with a breathless laugh.

The scientist kept murmuring to himself as he worked and the humming MRI ring slowly moved over Clint, measuring him and scanning his insides, but if he said anything of any relevance, Clint didn’t hear a word of it. His mind was all a flutter, like a bird that was panicking and trying to keep intruders out of its nest, flitting in just long enough to get close to a solid thought, then darting out again just as fast, it was a dull lump of fear in his chest that was nothing like the fear of facing down MODOK or Magneto or the Baron and was everything like crawling out of the wreckage of his parents car with his older brother. He had to tell Barney, og god, had to talk to SHEILD about how this would affect his mission status, probably should tell Logan, but no, cancer wasn’t contagious, and even if it was, the asshole still wouldn’t have caught it…

“Well,” Bruce said, aloud, breaking Clint out of his spiral of panic. “I can give you the good news first, or the bad news.”

“Give me the bad news first.” Clint said, bracing himself.

The scientist blinked, pushing his glasses up. “Uh. Actually, I… can’t really give you the bad news first. So, um…. Well, you’re getting the good news first. I don’t see any sign of testicular cancer.”

He groaned, closing his eyes.  “…so what’s the bad news?”

“This means I have no idea what _is_ wrong?”

Clint pushed himself up, gaping at the other man in horror. “What do you mean, you _have no idea_?! You’re the expect here!”

“Yes, I am, and the MRI works far better if you don’t _move_ …”

“Bullshit. I know that Stark made you a special machine that doesn’t need you to stay still so that you could take MRIs of the Hulk’s insides when he made an appearance, so don’t even – “

“Wait! Freeze!”

Clint might not _like_ taking orders, but with years of SHIELD training under his belt, he was remarkably good at it. So when Bruce said ‘freeze’, he froze absolutely stock still.

“What is _that_ …?” Bruce murmured mostly to himself again, adjusting his glasses as he peered at the screen.

“…is it the answer to my bizarre symptoms?” Clint asked, hopefully, still frozen in place.

“…maybe.”

He stayed frozen, feeling like his muscles were starting to complain, but even though he normally got to get himself in a comfortable position, first, Clint was used to spending hours stationary in a single position, watching for his prey from a vantage point. He was sure that he could handle a few minutes in a still position so that the scientist could figure out what was wrong with him.

“Oh, Clint.”

It felt like a spike of ice had just been shoved in his heart, a sort of growing horror and dread brought on by nothing more than a softly murmured phrase. An iron dagger, wrapped in velvet, does not make it less sharp. He likened it, for just a moment, to the control that Loki had taken over him once before, a spreading numbness that wiped all thought from his mind like a creeping tsunami. His name said softly, like that, at a time like this, did not bode well.

“Bruce…?” He demanded, fingers clenched on the leathery surface of the bed.

“I may have found Bizarre Symptom number six,” the scientist said, adjusting his glasses again. “And it might explain the rest of them. Come see this.”

Clint didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted up, hurrying to the other’s side. “What is it?”

“Okay, I know reading MRIs isn’t exactly in your training, but… I think it’s going to be clear enough.” Bruce’s hands slid across the touch screen, and three images lined up, side by side. And sure, Clint was no expert, but he could tell that these were images of the same part of a person, he recognized the spine and the oddly shaped lumps as certain organs. Okay, he had no idea what the organs were, but he could tell you that all three had a pair of jellybean shaped things in about the same place. “This is the MRI of an average healthy man, okay?”

Clint nodded.

“And this is your MRI from about ten years ago, done by SHIELD. Clearly done with inferior equipment,” there was a note of derision in Bruce’s voice. “As clearly things aren’t nearly as clear, and there are some dark shadows that they really should have investigated further at the time…”

“…aren’t those classified SHIELD files? How’d you get them?” Clint blinked.

“I’m afraid that would be my fault, master Barton,” JARVIS’ programmed voice spoke up from somewhere in the direction of the ceiling. “I’ve found it oddly easy to get into SHIELD files at times. I apologize if you didn’t want Dr. Banner to have access to this, but under the circumstances...”

“No, it’s cool, I might actually get you to find some things for me later,” he waved that off. “So there are shadows on my old MRIs. Is that bad?”

“Not necessarily,” Bruce said, clearing his throat. “Except that it looks like these shadows may have been hiding something extremely important.”

His heart clenched again. This couldn’t be good for him. “I _do_ have cancer?”

“No.” The scientist tapped the third image. “You have an extra _organ_.”

Narrowing his eyes, Clint leaned closer to the screen, trying to discern the odd shapes. “And that’s… bad, right?”

“Not _bad_ ,” Bruce cleared his throat. “Do you recognize it?”

He shrugged. “Nope.”

“Right. Well.” Bruce cleared his throat again, awkwardly. “We may want to consider a biopsy, just to be absolutely sure, but… ah…”

“But what, doc?”

He took a deep breath, and played with the touch screen for a moment, replacing the first MRI scan with another. “This is the MRI scan of an average healthy woman.”

“…yeah, and?” Clint arched a brow.

Bruce looked pained, as though he couldn’t quite believe that he had to be explaining this to someone. Especially to Clint. “Well, you will notice that there are some… differences. Obviously. These here, these are how the female reproductive organs show up on an MRI. Uterus, fallopian tubes…”

“Yes, Banner, I took seventh grade health,” he rolled his eyes.

“Yes, well…” Bruce tapped the screen, tracing a distinctive shape on the MRI image that he had taking of Clint, just moments before. “Uterus… fallopian tubes…”

All of the blood drained from Clint’s face, and he felt rather weak at the knees, suddenly. “I…I’m a _woman_?!”

“No.” Bruce cleared his throat again. “It just appears that you have… secondary sexual organs. I’ve seen this happen before… mostly in medical textbooks, it’s actually rather rare, but… probably what happened was that you had a female twin in the womb, then partway through your gestation, your body ended up absorbing hers, an so though they were never fully developed, they were still there. In all likelihood, they were never detected, because they were dormant and inactive, but they’re developing _now_ , well, that would explain all you other symptoms…”

It was as though there was a bubble of laughter pressing against the back of Clint’s teeth, and when he collapsed into a chair and opened his mouth, it burst out of him like an explosion. Sitting slumped in the chair, he laughed, helplessly, with a sort of hysteric tinge to the mirth.

“It’s not going to be the end of the world, Clint, it really shouldn’t change anything about your life…” Bruce tried, awkwardly moving to touch his shoulder, then pulling his hand back as though thinking better of it.

“Not _change_ anything?!” The sudden rage Clint felt startled even himself. “I’m some kind of – of _freak_!”

“No.” Bruce said, firmly, and this time he did squeeze Clint’s shoulder.

“Don’t patronize me,” he shook off the other’s hand.

“Clint. That’s not what I meant.” The doctor said firmly, tugging a chair over so that he could sit down across from him, on the same level. “Listen to me. Something has triggered the development of these secondary organs, but they are _secondary_. You are still a man, you just have a secondary set of sexual organs that you had to have _always_ had, or you wouldn’t have them now. Your hormones are completely out of whack right now because they’re trying to finish growing, that explains the urine test, the hormones, it explains the blood, the pain, it’s… basically, Clint, you are having your first menstrual cycle. But you _must_ remember, these are _secondary_ organs, and Clint, you’re not going to be viable. You – you haven’t even gotten any external female sex organs. Your body has found some way to deal, that’s why you’re having the bleeding problem, but it’s… it isn’t just going to make you any different, and you _are_ still the same man, Clint.”

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he said, “Would unusual hormone levels caused by an outside source trigger this… whole thing?”

Bruce hesitated, surprised by the question, and finally nodded. “Yes, it _could_ , if they were high enough…”

“Kele.” He said, thumping back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest again. “The kid Logan and me saved from Magneto. She’s a mutant, and her… mutation… is that when she’s threatened, she can spike other people’s hormone levels, to the point where they, ah, well, they desperately want to have sex with the nearest person. That’s not her. She sort of sneaks away while they marathon sex.”

Bruce hesitated. “So… you and Logan…?”

“Yeah.” Clint shrugged. “A lot.”

The scientist adjusted his glasses, expression slightly pinched. “Well, that… well, you’re both consenting adults, so as long as neither of you is feeling like it was an intrusion on you and your individual control over – “

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t psychoanalyze it, doc, and make sure we’re not feeling raped or something. We’re both _fine_. Just peachy. So I’ve got girl bits, that’s why I have these fucking bizarre symptoms, but… you’re _sure_ I can’t get pregnant? That the test didn’t say positive cause I _am_ , right?”

“No,” Bruce laughed, softly. “It’s just because your hormones are misplaced right now.”

“Good.” The archer let out a long breath. “So… no cancer.”

“No cancer.”

“And no getting pregnant?” He asked, eyes narrowed.

“Clint, these organs, they’re not going to be viable.” Bruce promised, eyes crinkling as he smiled. “It’s just another facet of your life. You’re still a man, and you’re still you.”

“Good.” He let out a long breath.

“I _am_ going to take another run at your blood work, though, make sure you don’t need any medication to help with your proper hormone levels and things, but I think everything is going to be fine, Clint.” Bruce smiled at him, and stood. “So you can go… relax. You _might_ want to look into some solutions in case the bleeding continues for now, but…”

Clint groaned, standing. “I hate you, Banner.”

“No, you don’t,” he laughed softly. “You hate my news.”

“Yeah, that too.”

The fake, cheerful relaxed smile on Clint’s face dropped off the moment he stepped inside his bedroom. It was empty, now, apparently Logan _had_ managed to let himself out, and he found himself oddly wishing that he was still there. Letting out a long breath, he slumped, bonelessly onto his bed, sheets still ruined, still stinking of sweat and sex, and buried his face into his pillow.

Clint drew in a deep breath, then screamed.

 

+++

 

Mostly, Clint didn’t want to think about it.

And no one, he thought, should ever have any reason to blame him for that. It was sort of a life altering event, to find out that he probably ate (absorbed, whatever) his unborn twin sister and now he had female sex organs but he was still a man. Yeah, he didn’t like thinking about that.

Didn’t want to talk about it, neither.

Bruce had informed him that, based on what he had found, he considered Clint to be “True Gonadal Intersex”, which sounded way too clinical and scientific for him, and he hated it, but apparently, he was still XY male, and aside from the spike in hCG that had confused the urine test, Clint was otherwise “normal”. Not that he wanted to slam people that had to actually deal with this shit, or anything, but seriously, Clint should _not_ be going through a second, more girly, puberty at his age. Bruce said that no meds or anything were necessary, either, so he gratefully threw himself back into his normal life and tried not to think about it.

Though certainly one thing _had_ changed. In the four weeks since he’d discovered this new and he felt horrific development inside of him, he and Logan had had an absolutely _astronomical_ amount of sex.

Enough sex, in fact, that looking back on it, he thought that they might have actually had more sex now than they had actually had in the three weeks that they had been together in the woods, and they didn’t even have Kele to blame for it, now. It was sort of awkward, sometimes, but it kept happening, and Clint wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself that he was super manly by having as much man sex as he could manage, or if it was just because he really wanted it all the time now, because oh god, he just pretty much found himself wanting sex _all the fucking time_ now. He’d have thought that maybe Logan was getting irritated by it, but it seemed that every time he met the wild man’s eyes and quirked a brow, the other would smirk slightly, and next thing you knew they were in a broom closet or Clint’s room or one time in Stark’s lab, having wild and sort of desperate sex. As though they both needed it to continue functioning, and they seemed to be going at it almost constantly.

It was… not normal, Clint thought.

But everything _else_ seemed to be going back to normal, so he bit his tongue, and crooked a finger at the other man, and all thoughts of _intersex_ and _hormones_ and _changes_ flew from his mind by power of Logan’s seemingly magical fingers.

Ultron had been making trouble the last few days, and as much as he hated fighting robots, Clint had been relieved to have the distraction of the fight.

Except that, despite everything, and despite Bruce saying that his hormone levels seemed to be getting back to what he was supposed to be having, apparently – “Your testosterone levels are a bit high, Clint, but really, that’s to be expected. For decades, your body has gotten used to a certain level of hormones, suddenly some of the female hormones have risen, and it appears that your body is raising the testosterone to compensate. They’ll settle back out, soon.” – Clint was still fucking exhausted. Constantly. He wasn’t sure it he had fallen asleep, for just a micro second, or if maybe he’d just slipped because he was so fucking tired, but Clint had been perched on the edge of a roof top, watching to try and snipe down on the moving mass of robots, and he’d fallen.

Off.

He’d fallen right off the roof.

At the time, of course, he’d started awake, and tried to fire one of his anchored arrows in the hopes that he’d be able to catch himself from falling, but it hadn’t been necessary, anyway, because Hulk had caught him. A breathless thump into the giant green arms, and the massive mutant had grinned down at him, tossed him over his shoulder, and climbed the building to deposit Clint back on the roof again.

It wasn’t such a big thing, really, no one had actually gotten hurt. Mistakes could happen, and if the Hulk was the only one that noticed the incident, then who cared?

Except that it scared him.

Well, _no_ , it didn’t _scare_ him, shit like this didn’t _scare_ him, but it sort of alarmed him a little. Freaked him out that he’d lost control enough to fall asleep on the edge of the roof, what the fuck kind of symptoms was he having, now, that he fell off of roofs? This couldn’t be normal. He’d been so tired that he was puking at least a few times every day, which just made him even _more_ exhausted, and it was a sick and frustrating spiral. It made him just want to throw himself into a bottle until he didn’t remember anything anymore, or maybe into Logan and demand sex. Only he felt a little stupid drinking right now, because if he was stressed out because of falling asleep, doing something that would make him even more likely to fall asleep seemed idiotic. And he had no idea where Logan had gone, after the Avengers had sort of tumbled into the mansion and stripped out of their uniforms, complaining about their wounds and how hard it would be to fix their gear up.

He slumped, finally, into the end of the couch in the living room, huffing.

Tony looked up from the Starkpad he was working on, on the other end of the couch, and blinked at him. “What crawled up your ass and died?”

On the floor, in front of them, Mary and Tony Jr. giggled, and Mary pitched a Lego at her father, calling brightly, “ _Ass_!”

“Don’t repeat words daddy says, honey.” Tony said, to his daughter, sort of distractedly, and twisted to look at Clint, seriously. “So. Going to tell me what the problem is?”

“I think, technically, I’m allowed to be stressed, Stark,” he sighed, leaning back in the couch, closing his eyes.

“Perhaps technically.” He shrugged, squirming closer to him, still holding the Starkpad. “But let’s be honest here, there’s no such thing as privacy in this house. So. What’s the problem that’s making you all stressed out?”

“Just… been a long few days,” he muttered, then hesitated, reaching over to pluck the pad from the other’s fingers. “What’s this about Steve?”

“It’s _not_ about Steve.” Tony’s eyes sort of lit up, and he squirmed closer to Clint, looking sort of excited about it. “I’ve been looking into this, because it’s really starting to bother me. Okay, we all have noticed how Steve and Johnny look an awful lot alike, right?”

“Yeah, always figured you went for flame boy because he was a poor substitute for the Cap,” he said, idly, and just ducked out of Tony’s way when the other swatted at him. “But sure, I’ve noticed. But this guy… who the hell is he?”

“His name is Captain Jake Jensen.” Tony tapped at the screen, moving the picture a little so that Clint could see it a little better. “He’s a member of the US Army, smart guy… scary smart guy. He’s genius level IQ at least, I frankly think I’d get along with him famously, but… anyway… he was assigned to a unique group of misfit soldiers they used to call ‘The Losers’,  sort of oddballs that do unique missions for the government and things. Anyway, they were involved in this big thing in Bolivia, they were killed along with a few dozen kids that got killed because of their actions. They went dark side with a drug trade. Or… so goes the official story.” Tony pointed at him, wiggling his eyebrows. “JARVIS has been very helpful with this… he’s not dead. None of them are dead. I have leads that show he’s back in the states, even… and I _personally_ find the fact that he looks pretty much like what would happen if you crossed Captain America and my husband and put some glasses on him very interesting.”

“So you’re trying to find the guy,” he considered that, pursing his lips.

“Well, he _does_ look suspiciously like a longer haired slightly geekier Johnny.” He shrugged.

“Yeah, he definitely does. Creepy.” Clint handed the pad back. “Gonna try and get him here?”

“If I can.” Tony nodded, flicking through another few pages. “Found some stories about a guy in Shanghai that we might want to call in, too…”

“Oh yeah?” He leaned over, blinking at the blurry photo the genius had pulled up. “…is that seriously another look alike? Cause he _really_ looks like the Cap, only, you know, playing dice and gambling, which Captain America would never fucking do because he’s too damn perfect…”

“Fuckin!” Tony Jr. called, making Clint jump.

The toddler was standing in front of the couch, grinning up at him where he did, and when he spotted Clint looking at him, his eyes lit up, and he darted forward. Resting his hands on Clint’s knees, he said, cheerfully, “Hiya unca C’int.”

“…hey, Junior.” He leaned forward, and scooped up the toddler, setting him on his lap. He didn’t interact with the kids a _lot_ , not nearly as much as the other members of the Avengers seemed to, because good lord, apparently this place was mostly a daycare most the time, but Tony and Johnny’s kids seemed to have clapped onto the idea that he was their “uncle Clint”, and delighted in calling him that. He didn’t really mind, long run, it was kind of cool to have people that looked up to him. “What’s up, big guy?”

The toddler squirmed a little closer to him, poking Clint in the bare chest, sort of curiously, then beamed up at him. “Wanna shoot bows and arrows.”

“Do you, now? Well… that depends on what your dad says.”

Tony looked up from his pad. “Hey, I wholeheartedly approve of my children being as well trained as heroes as possible, be it with weapons or with skills, or… speaking of, maybe we should ask Natasha if it’s too early for the kids to start learning martial arts…”

“Think it’s a _touch_ early for that,” Clint rolled his eyes, and bounced Junior on his knee, cheerfully.

“Mmm, maybe. Heya, Mary… what do you say, Clint teaches you munchkins how to use a bow and arrow? Maybe he’ll even teach me a thing or two. Iron Man could use a bow or something.”

“Don’t steal my schtick,” he pointed at Tony.

“Bow an’ arrows!” Mary called, delighted, and darted up off the floor, clambering up into Tony’s lap. She wriggled, absolutely delighted, eyes bright and practically glowing. “Wanna be like Robin Hood!”

“Yeah, Robin Hood is pretty awesome,” Clint agreed, standing with Junior in his arms, bouncing the little boy lightly. With the genius and Mary in tow, he headed down towards the lower levels of the house, to go to the Avengers training room. Wasn’t usually the type of place that the kids went, which usually meant that it was one of the few places that Clint found he had some peace. But the kids weren’t so bad, not in small doses… it was just that when there was what felt like eleven billion of them around – okay, there was technically only five kids around on a regular basis, but five children can _feel_ like eleven billion when they’re all running around and screaming and leaving toys behind like shed snake skins and generally making a complete nuisance of themselves – that he had a hard time dealing. When there was one or two, like this, Tony Jr. curled up to his chest and chattering on about how much he and his sister liked Robin Hood and how maybe the Avengers were like the Merry Men, did they steal from the rich to give to the poor? Yeah, Clint decided, kids weren’t too bad if they were a) in small doses, and b) in a good mood.

“Are you Robin Hood?” Tony Jr. said, suddenly.

“Do you think I’m Robin Hood?” He grinned.

Junior nodded, seriously, eyes wide. He looked sort of intimidated but delighted by the idea at the same time. “Uh huh. You’re Robin Hood, right? You’re a good guy?”

“Yeah, I’m a good guy,” he winked at him, and bounced the toddler as he headed into the range they used for practicing their ranged weapons. He his bow, Natasha her spider bites, Tony his arch reactor weapons, Steve his shield. Setting the toddler down, he pulled one of his bows – and oh it was nice to go back to his custom made metal bows again – off of the rack, crouching to show it to the child. “So. Think you could pull this thing back?”

He nodded, eagerly.

Tony snorted. “Way to torture the tyke, Clint.”

“Relax, I’d like to see _you_ try and pull it back,” he tossed back, with a grin, reaching up to ruffle Junior’s hair.

“Wanna try!” Mary called, bouncing in Tony’s arms, trying to get down to the ground.

“Here… how about you two try together?” Clint suggested, shifting to hold the bow in a vague semblance of proper form, and smiled at the toddlers. Together, the two of them curled their chubby fists around the bow string, and struggled to pull it back. Clint knew that there was absolutely no way that they would ever be able to do so, but it was adorable to watch them try, and he shifted to pull the string back, watching their eyes light up as they honestly thought that they had done it themselves. Wasn’t hard to see that they _hadn’t_ , there was only one string, his fingers were just half an inch from theirs, but they were young. And it was kind of cute to see them so excited to think that they’d managed something amazing. “There we go… lookit that.”

“Wanna shoot it!” Tony Jr. called, wriggling as he couldn’t seem to contain his excitement.

“Yeah, well… let’s see if we can do that, then, huh?” He glanced up at Tony, then hesitated. The dark haired genius was grinning, a sort of devious looking crooked sort of thing, arms crossed over his chest, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “…what’s that look for?”

“You’re good with the kids.” Stark shrugged, smirking.

“…shut up.” He muttered.

Last thing he needed was a reputation of being _okay_ with the brats, they were cute and all, but only in very small doses. He didn’t want to have to be named an unofficial babysitter or something, all because he _sometimes_ didn’t think the kids were so bad.

Tony snickered.

 

+++

 

“…this can’t be normal.”

Clint glowered at himself in the mirror, turning so that he could see himself in profile, brows furrowed in confusion. Everything _else_ looked normal, but his gut was sort of… not. It was sort of… swollen? Was that the right word? Like he was developing a beer gut.

But okay, while he might have never had a beer gut himself, he knew what beer guts were _like_ , and they were squishy. Soft and fatty. This wasn’t soft, this was… weirdly firm. He pressed his fingertips to his stomach, trying to measure it, trying to figure out why exactly there was a little swell in his lower stomach, making his pants, which were _normally_ extremely comfortable – yes, even leather pants can be comfortable, thank you everyone that seems to think that they’re too hot and tight – way too tight and uncomfortable. He’d just pushed them down, earlier, when they were on their mission to stop the Serpent Society from taking over the SHIELD lab in Queens, but damn, they were tight.

Shedding his vest fully, he hung it up in his locker, and grumbled, “This better not be because of that thing…”

He had to ask Bruce. Had to make sure that this odd weight gain wasn’t a side effect of his apparently having girl bits inside – because that had already pissed him off enough as it was, did he _really_ have to deal with _other_ life changes now as a result, too?! – because if it was, then he didn’t care what Bruce had said about his hormone levels evening out and his not needing drugs. Clint had done some research of his own into this, he knew there were hormone blockers that could stop the overactive development of estrogen, so if _that_ was what was happening – it might not be, but maybe it was, he wasn’t an expert – then he was going to demand to go on them and get this dealt with.

He was an Avenger, dammit. He didn’t need to get a stupid gut.

So asking Bruce it was. He had gone back to Bruce, right? He wasn’t Hulk right now… hopefully. As entertaining as the thought was, no, he wasn’t going to ask the _Hulk_ if he was having problems with his estrogen levels and if it was possible that he was getting a gut because of that. Hulk might be helpful in different ways, but not so awesome for medical advice.

“Doctor Hulk,” he snickered, to himself, as he headed down the hallway, running his hand through his hair.

“Hey, Clint?”

He twisted, and grinned back at Natasha, joy and ease and relaxation a much easier emotion to express than stress over possibilities he didn’t want to dwell on. “Heya, Tash. What can I do you for?”

“Are you all right?” She asked, running her fingertips lightly along the wall as she approached him. He’d seen her do that before, always figured that she was trying to track her way silently, so that she would never get lost – and it must work, because he’d never once seen the master spy _get_ lost. “We haven’t talked much lately.”

“Naw, well… you know what things are like,” he waved it off.

“…no, actually. I don’t know what things are like.” Natasha tugged her hand off the wall, crossing her arms over her chest, and smiled softly at him. Lady killer smile, that woman could get any kind of information she wanted out of anyone with that smile. Clever woman. “Ever since Coulson sent you on that mission with Logan, you’ve been… sort of distant. Are you doing all right?”

“Yeah. M’fine.” He nodded, with a shrug.

“So how come we haven’t talked?” She arched a brow. “You’ve been sleeping a lot, spending a lot of time alone… refusing to wear shirts…”

Clint wriggled his eyebrows, mischievously. “Well, Tash, you know me, can’t keep these perfect goods locked away behind a shirt. What would the world do without having access to my beautiful, beautiful chest?”

“Sure.” Natasha smiled, and stepped forward again. “So what’s going on?”

“With what?” He asked, deliberately obtuse.

Her eyes flicked downwards, and Clint wasn’t an idiot, he knew that the woman that had been his partner for years, working for SHIELD – and sometimes his enemy, but that was when things got complicated, but mostly she was his partner, anyway – knew him almost better than he knew himself. He knew that Natasha had spotted the change instantaneously. You didn’t get to be a master spy without being observant. “Clint Barton. We’ve known each other for years, why are you lying to me?”

“All right, well, it’s… awkward. Come on. Let’s get out of the hall.” He cleared his throat, and motioned at the doorway to her room. “Shall we go in?”

“Trying to work your way into my room?” She smirked – but opened the door, anyway, and nodded inside. “Come on.”

Naturally, everything in Natasha’s room was exactly like everything else in her life – it was neat, it was orderly, there wasn’t the slightest bit of anything out of place. Well, mostly. The sheets on the bed were sort of rucked up, like someone had been laying on it recently, and on the floor, just under the corner of the bed, there were a few items of clothing, as though someone had recently stripped out of their clothes and sort of completely forgotten that they were naked. They didn’t look like Natasha’s typical clothes, though… odd. That lacey burgundy bra was definitely _not_ the practical woman’s typical sturdy style…

As though she’d noticed his idle thinking, Natasha kicked the clothes under the edge of the bed, and arched a brow at him. “So. Let’s talk, Clint. We’re not in public.”

He sighed, and slumped to sit on the edge of her bed, heavily. “…it’s… hard to explain.”

“Try me.” She encouraged, perching at the other end of the bed. Felt like the old days, back in Russia, her watching him, expecting him to spill all his secrets. And back then, drunk on cheap vodka, yeah, he used to spill some secrets. Just never the state ones that she had wanted. He was good at only revealing the secrets that no one really wanted to know. Just the ones that broke his own heart, and didn’t do a thing for anyone else.

Clint let out a long breath, and slumped back against the pillows. “…so, it turns out there’s something I didn’t know about myself. According to Banner, I’m intersexed.”

Confusion flicked across her face for a moment, then she narrowed her eyes. “You’re… both male and female?”

“Yeah, technically.” He sighed, waving a hand. “Banner says I’m genetically male, says that I appear externally male, but that after… the mission to go talk to Magneto… I’ve basically gone through a second puberty. _Apparently_ I have girl bits inside, and they’ve developed now, and… so I think maybe that this whole thing,” he poked his lower stomach, “Is because of that. So yeah. Apparently I’m all man, but with girl parts on the inside.”

“How did no one ever catch this before?” She gaped at him.

Clint shrugged, dramatically, closing his eyes. “No idea.”

“Are you sure that Dr. Banner is correct?” Natasha asked, gently, shifting closer to him on the bed. Leaning close over him, he opened his eyes to consider the redhead, thinking over a thousand different battle fields and military bases where she had questioned him over things like this, before. The gentle voice was her dangerous voice, because when she was gentle and soft, that was when she was getting information out of you and you didn’t even know it. Clint didn’t mind, though, he was willing to let her worm whatever information she wanted out of him, he wasn’t trying to hide anything. Not right now, dammit, he’d already just told her his biggest secret. “We have an unusual line of work here, Clint. Is it possible that maybe you were hit with some HYDRA experiment, or that the sorceress magicked you somehow, or… hell, that it’s not a Skrull development?”

He hesitated, considering that. “Maybe, but… why?”

“Because you’re an Avenger, and they hate you for that?” The redhead arched a single brow, smirking faintly. “Remember when Loki was talking about giving Johnny or Tony ‘girly bits’ so that they could have their own children? He’s perfectly capable of doing it.”

“Yeah, but Banner told me it’s not viable.” He pointed at her. “I can’t get pregnant. So it can’t be a Loki thing.”

“Says _who_?” She crossed her arms. “Banner? Did he do a biopsy, to check if it’s not viable?”

Clint hesitated, mouth slightly open. “…no?”

“So how do you know that his theory is right?” Natasha pointed out, with a smirk. “Maybe you ought to rethink his theory a little. After all, look at _this_.” She tapped his stomach. “Between this, and you always being tired, and your being antisocial lately… if you were woman, Clint, I’d be asking you who the father was.”

He laughed, breathlessly. “Funny.”

“Serious.” She countered.

“…it’s not… _really…_ possible, is it?” He asked, the smile sliding right off his face. “Because that… is a really terrifying idea.”

“I’m not a doctor, Clint. Maybe you should ask someone who is.”

“…that is _not_ the kind of question I want to ask someone.” Clint said, voice cracking slightly.

 

+++

 

“Is it possible that I’m pregnant?”

Okay, so it turned out that maybe it wasn’t a question that he wanted to ask, but it was a question that he _would_ ask, if the situation arose, after all.

Bruce Banner slowly looked up from the microscope he had been peering into, blinking at him, and slowly pulled his glasses down off of the top of his head, settling them on his nose as he considered the archer with an odd sort of intensity. “Pregnant.” He repeated, at last.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re the one that said that I had a uterus and fallopian tubes and all that shit… is it possible that I’m pregnant?”

“I already told you, they’re not _viable_ , Clint.”

“Well, how do you know that for sure?” He demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, taking a deep breath. “Because if it’s viable and you were wrong, I am probably going to punch you, Banner.”

The scientist sighed, and rolled his eyes, but motioned to the bed that he’d examined Clint on last time. “Lay down, then, we’ll take a look. Run another MRI scan.”

“I did some research.” Clint frowned, but did move forward to clamber up onto the little bed. “I thought ultrasounds were the way to go.”

“Well, _yes_ , if you were a pregnant woman, yes, that would be what I suggested.” Bruce admitted, frowning slightly as he considered Clint, then considered the equipment that he stood beside. “But then, I suppose, in this group, it makes absolutely no difference if you’re a man or a woman, so long as you have the help of a god, anyone could be pregnant. But this isn’t like that, Clint, it’s – “

“How do you know it’s not?” He countered.

Bruce hesitated, mouth open for a moment as though trying to figure out the words to say to counter that argument, then a moment later, closed his mouth again. “Well, technically, I _don’t_ know that it’s not. I suppose I just assumed that there would be a rational explanation.”

“You’re an Avenger, and you assumed that there would be a rational explanation.” Clint pointed out.

“Well, yes. We may deal with strange situations and all, but we _are_ still human.” The doctor took a deep breath, considering that for a moment. “Usually. Mostly we’re still human. Look, Clint… there were shadows on your old MRI, that’s probably why no one noticed this before – “

“Or.” He interrupted. “Or I didn’t have these parts before, and maybe something else caused it. Maybe something like a mutant sending my hormones into insane weird levels that a person’s hormones aren’t supposed to be in. Is that _possible_? A mutation causing my body to mutate and grow new organs? I mean, I have heard weirder things. I have heard _far_ weirder things. Like a woman that can control the weather, or a man that can regrow an arm if it gets chopped off, or a man that shape shifts into a giant green rage monster when he gets pissed off.”

Bruce let out a long breath. “That was the result of gamma radiation, Clint.”

Clint spread out his palms. “And if I was gamma radiated and we didn’t know it? What sort of changes might that make to me?”

“If it wasn’t done properly… cancer, probably.” He said, dryly, but pointed at the little bed again, firmly. “Lay down. I’ll get the ultrasound, and I’ll take a look. If we find something… unusual… I’m going to call in Reed Richards. He’s better with this stuff than I am.”

“Right.” He nodded, and slumped back to the bed, folding his hands on his chest, watching the other man.

Ultrasound jelly, as it turned out, was freezing, but Clint refused to complain about it. If this was what he was terrified it was, then he was absolutely bound and determined to make sure he was as strong and manly about this as possible. Bruce hummed slightly as he moved the little “wand” around on the strange swell of his stomach, but Clint’s eyes were on the screen.

“JARVIS!” He hollered, frowning. “Can you pull up another screen so I can see what he’s looking at?”

“I could have just moved it for you,” Bruce muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, master Barton,” JARVIS answered, sounding slightly sarcastic, and one of the projection screens sparked to life, and a slightly blue tinged holographic projection of the ultrasound readings hovered in the air over the bed, and Clint was able to lay back properly on the bed, watching his own insides as Bruce tried to figure out what was going on inside of him. “Will that do?”

“That works perfectly, JARVIS.” He gave the ceiling an odd thumbs up, watching the screen. “What is that?”

“It appears to be a uterus, master Barton.” JARVIS responded.

“Not you, but thanks for that, JARVIS.” Clint rolled his eyes.

“As it happens, JARVIS is correct,” Bruce said, with a soft laugh, adjusting the angle of the ultrasound wand. It actually hurt a little, with how hard he was pressing, but Clint just winced, watching the little screen. “There we go, I think we have… _oh_.”

“I don’t like the sound of that _oh_ , Banner.” Clint said, firmly, and swallowed. Lifting his arm, he pointed at the holographic screen. “Okay, I don’t consider myself an expert or anything, but… um. That’s a head, right? And like… arms… and legs… and… it sort of looks like a jellybean with a head and limbs, but… I _am_ reading the screen right, aren’t I? I’m not nuts. That is… a jellybean baby. Oh _god_ , Banner, let me up, I need to punch you, I need to punch you right – what is that?”

Bruce had silently reached out to press a button on the screen he was working on, and the room was suddenly flooded with a rapid _pitter pat_ that reminded him of a horse galloping across a stone courtyard, hooves ringing on the paving stones.

“…Bruce?” Clint whispered, swallowing hard. “Is that a heart beat?”

“I’m sorry, Clint. I should have looked further into it, I should have done a biopsy, I should have made _sure_ instead of assuming…”

He swallowed hard, against bile that he suddenly seemed to taste in the back of his throat. “Bruce… is that the heartbeat of an unborn fetus that is inside of me right now?”

“…yes.”

“ _Oh_.” Clint said, sort of breathlessly, feeling sort of oddly dizzy all of a sudden. “…guess that means you’re calling in Reed Richards, huh?”

“Yes. That would be the best plan of action, I think.” Bruce agreed.

“Okay. Awesome.” He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths, but he was still dizzy. Dizzier than before, actually, enough that he wasn’t sure he was going to actually stay awake for much longer. Passing out while laying down? Lame. “That sounds like a great idea, I’d like to make sure that we know what’s going on here, I want to make sure we’re not… jumping to conclusions… JARVIS? Can you do me a favour?”

“Of course, master Barton.”

“Can you see if Logan is somewhere in the house?” He asked, breathlessly. “And if he is, can you ask him to come here? Kinda think he should be here for this. You know, just in case.”

“Naturally.” The AI answered, immediately.

“…are you going to be sick, Clint?” Bruce murmured, reaching over to touch his shoulder gently.

“Oh yes. Definitely.”

 

+++

 

Logan stood beside the bed that Clint still lay on, hand curled on the archer’s shoulder as they watched Reed and Bruce confer quietly, tapping at the screen that they were looking at. It looked like something out of a scientist’s convention, or something, with the two of them, heads close together, seeming to sometimes disagree on certain points, sometimes agreeing on others. With the see-through screen, the silent pair at the bed could sort of see some of the details they were looking at, but Clint wasn’t sure he could understand any of it. Not because he couldn’t understand these sorts of things normally, but more because he was _very_ dizzy right now, and he couldn’t seem to actually centre a single of his thoughts.

“…I’m sorry,” he said, suddenly.

Logan’s hand on his shoulder tightened a little, and the other man looked down at him. “What for?”

“For this.” Clint waved at himself, then at the screen. “You didn’t ask for any of this shit.”

“Neither did you.”

“Well, yeah, but… I mean… nothing’s changed for _you_ , right? So… I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Logan muttered, but tightened his grip on Clint’s shoulder all the same when Reed and Bruce suddenly approached them, looking very serious. “Well?”

“Bruce’s conclusions were correct,” Reed Richards said, tightly, lips pressed together in a thin line. “You have developed a uterus, through means we’re not yet sure of, and there is a baby in it. You are pregnant.”

"But how exactly am I supposed to be pregnant?! I'm a man!" Clint protested, voice cracking.  
  
"Dr. Banner told me about what you told him, about the girl that you had rescued. Going over the information he has, and the documents that I was able to get from Professor Xavier, I think that the assumption you had made, that perhaps this uterus was not caused by your own biology but by her mutation, may have been correct. As of right now, Dr. McCoy has her sequestered from the other students, in case this is the situation, to ensure that dozens of young men aren’t developing uteri at the school. An inquiry to SHIELD’s research departments shows that there _have_ been cases of several young men in Alberta, Canada, developing an unexpected uterus. One of them even became pregnant. It could be coincidence, but this Kele girl lived in each of those areas just shortly before these cases were discovered. Naturally, SHIELD and CSIS covered up the cases, but… you appear to be right. We will have to do more investigation, to ensure that our conclusions are correct, but it appears that you are pregnant with a child because of her mutation." Reed admitted. "Prolonged exposure rather than just a single incident, coupled with Logan's mutation perhaps... And because you are so very, well, human."  
  
"Excuse me?!"  
  
"You're human, Clint. You weren't modified with super serum, you don't have an arc reactor in your chest... you're not a god nor a mutant." Reed checked some of his notes. "You said that Magneto was using you as a control subject. Really, you were the perfect control. Although it wasn’t exactly perfect, as your ‘uterus’ isn’t perfectly formed, and the connection between it and... well..."  
  
"His ass?" Logan guessed, with a grunt.  
  
Clint smacked his arm.  
  
Reed cleared his throat. "Yes, well... Yes. It's small. Extremely. Practically non existent. Not really viable, and shouldn’t have really worked, but according to what these reports say, and based on what Bruce’s findings seem to show… well. It’s… there. And whatever the circumstances that led it to occur, the consequences are undeniable. You’ve seen the ultrasound. You’re pregnant. Based on the measurements, about ten weeks along, so presumably you got pregnant nearly immediately."  
  
Logan crossed his arms. "Just thought of something. How is he supposed to have a kid? He ain't exactly got childbearing hips."  
  
Clint's eyes widened as he paled. He hadn't even thought of that. "Oh god."  
  
"Well, cesarean, naturally. You most certainly are not designed for delivery, Clint." Reed smiled, trying to look non threatening.  
  
It worked. Clint groaned softly, slumping back on the little bed.  
  
"And under the circumstances, I cannot allow you to have an abortion, either." The doctor added. Beside him, Bruce winced slightly, and murmured something aboutthe other possibly not stating it quite such a blunt way.  
  
"What?" Clint sat up sharply at that, brows furrowed. "Why the hell not?! That’s supposed to be an _option_ if I don’t want to go through with this shit! I voted for that! Bodily autonomy, I’m supposed to be in control of my own body and what goes on in it, if I don’t want a parasite in my belly I’m supposed to be able to say that I don’t _want_ a parasite in me! So why the hell can’t I choose that option?!"  
  
Reed arched a brow, considering him for a moment, then nodded at the pair of them. "Firstly, because of the reaction from Logan for even uttering that word."  
  
Clint twisted to look at the mutant, whose teeth were definitely bared in a snarl, fists clenched so tightly that the metal of his claws was actually visible between the bones of the back of his hand. He growled deep in his chest when he caught Clint's eyes, and the archer groaned as he twisted to face the doctor again. “Seriously? Ignore him, it’s instinct or something, Logan’s more animal than man right now, I will _have a word with him_ , but that should not be the answer!”  
  
"And secondly," Reed frowned, continuing despite Clint’s outbursts. "Frankly, your body just wasn't designed for this. It could kill you. Like I said before, the connection between this proto-uterus and your, well, anus is startlingly small. To be honest, I imagine that if you had been engaged in this activity with anyone other than Logan, you simply would not have conceived."  
  
"Well, that's just fucking peachy," he grumbled.  
  
"As a result, your body is trying to get ready. It - it's in a state of upheaval right now, Clint, your hormones and your organs and all are in a state of flux, trying to get ready. Any surgical intervention would be completely disastrous, and likewise any chemical interference, well... It would be murder, Clint. Not for - I'm not trying to make this some stance on pro-life, it would be murder for _you_. It would kill you, Clint. And, in good conscience, I cannot allow my patients to die. Whether you choose to keep the child after its birth is another issue entirely, but, barring major complications, congratulations, Clint. You're going to be a father."  
  
"...fuck you."

 

+++

 

“Clint? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Looking up from the arrow he was working on, Clint frowned for a moment at Bruce Banner, then nodded, finally. “Yeah, okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“Somewhere private?” Bruce suggested, smiling faintly, pushing his glasses up.

“Fine.” Clint sighed, heavily, and stood, following him.

A few minutes later, they were sitting in Bruce’s lab again – and yeah, Clint was _really_ starting to hate this place a lot – but in chairs, this time, instead of in the awkward power dynamic that they’d had before, with Clint on the bed and Bruce standing. He preferred it this way, felt less like they were supposed to be on different levels. After all, they were both Avengers, they were both supposed to be equal. Bruce looked sort of awkward, where he sat, squirming a little, taking a deep breath.

“Spill it, Banner.”

“Look… the situation you’re in.” Bruce said, clearly trying to choose his words carefully. “I don’t think it’s fair, Clint.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest, jaw grit tightly.

“And I don’t agree with Reed Richards.” The scientist continued, taking a deep breath. “I’m not a medical doctor, I’ve never pretended to be one, and I know that I’m not an expert. But I am good friends with those who are, and I think we can find a solution if you want one. It wouldn’t be as safe as I’d like, he is right that your body is very conflicted right now. But if you don’t want this fetus in you anymore, I will _find_ a way to help.”

Clint slowly slumped back in his seat, letting out a long breath. Just two days ago, he’d been told that the doctor _would not let him abort_. Now another doctor was telling him that it _could_ happen. “…really?”

“Really.” Bruce said, smiling faintly. “You were right, you know. It’s your right to decide if you want to carry this to term or not. Frankly, either way, keeping it or not, it’s probably going to be dangerous for you. So you should have the choice you deserve to have, okay?”

“Yeah.” He murmured. “Okay.”

“Give me a couple weeks.” Reaching over to squeeze Clint’s shoulder, he nodded. “And I’ll find a way.”

“Thanks, Banner.” Clint whispered, taking a deep breath. “Thanks.”

 

+++

 

Clint was determined to act as though everything was perfectly normal, that he _didn’t_ have his coworkers giving him odd sort of pitying looks as they walked past him, that his Kevlar vest was becoming increasingly difficult to wear, that Logan didn’t seem sort of oddly distant. Well, not _distant_ , exactly, it was just… well, dammit, he’d sort of started to enjoy the other man’s company – oh _god_ , he needed to stop having _feelings_ about things right now before he started making decisions he regretted – and though Logan seemed to be around when he _really_ needed him for sex, he didn’t seem to be around much for just talking. He kind of liked talking to him.

Oh god, these fucking hormones were giving him _way_ too many mood swings.

So if everything was normal, then it was perfectly normal for him to tug his Kevlar on when his ID card howled _Avengers Assemble_! and it was perfectly normal to sling up his bow, flick it out into its open form to make sure all was as it was supposed to be, then grab a quiver of arrows and head out on the Quinjet to the site of the disaster.

Crouched on one of the towers of the Brooklyn Bridge, and wondering if it was sad that his life had sort of become a cliché of ‘go up on the roof or tower or high object, Hawkeye, and shoot at people from your vantage point’, Clint looked down at the scene of devastation below, and wondered aloud, “Can we never have _normal_ villains? Like… maybe we could take down some government corruption, or bust some drug dealers, or something.”

“What, you don’t like guys in costumes anymore, Hawkeye?” Tony’s voice came teasingly over his headset.

“ _No_ , I don’t like guys in costumes, and I don’t like what you’re implying there, Iron Asshole.” He shot back, and ignored the other’s laughter as he tugged an arrow from his quiver, and fired at the madman in the green costume as he flew by, cackling like an idiot.

The Green Goblin, unfortunately, had never kept a predictable pattern of flight, and the villain skidded out of the way of his arrow, which exploded when it hit another of the Bridge tower supports, instead. That probably wasn’t good, they wanted to try and keep the Bridge _standing_ , especially since the Green Goblin had managed to destroy the streets on either side of the long bridge, trapping possibly thousands of people in their cars on the road. Thankfully, most of them had behaved and stayed in their cars, but he had absolutely no illusions that this wasn’t going to continue. People in packs were idiots. They did stupid things when things were terrible, like clambering out of their cars and trying to escape on foot even though there was a villain with bombs flying over their heads.

“Dammit,” he hissed, angrily, tugging another arrow loose.

“All right, we need to find a way to cut him off, and take him out of the sky,” Captain America said, over the headset, and Clint could just see him, below, in the road, darting between cars. “Widow, I need you to knock out the engines of that flight deck. Torch, distract him so she has a clean shot.”

“Done and done, Cap,” Johnny said, cheerfully, and there was a flare of flames across the sky as the Human Torch skidded around one of the bridge supports, streaking towards the Goblin.

Of course, it was right about then that the Green Goblin let out a howl of demented amusement, and flung out his arm. Dozens of small green and orange balls flew from his hands and out towards the bridge and the hundreds of cars packed bumper to bumper – where they began exploding startlingly violently considering how very small the little bombs were. Cars flew every which direction like tinker toys, and even without the headset, they could still hear Steve’s shout as he scrambled to get out of the blast radius. There were _people_ in those cars, innocent people that had nothing to do with this. Innocent people.

One of the cars actually flew off of the bridge itself, hurtling towards the water below, and it was Iron Man that streaked across the sky, catching the vehicle. The front end of the whole vehicle crunched inwards when it struck the man in the robotic suit, and tumbled down a little further, before with a flaring of the rockets in his boots, Iron Man brought the car back up onto the surface of the bridge.

Great, so he managed to save one car, and people were spilling out of the vehicle now, clearly grateful to be alive. But what happened when the next car flew off the bridge? Or if more than one managed to fling off at once?

Clint tightened his grip on his arrow, teeth bared, and shifted forward to try and get into a better firing position.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha _haaaaa_!” The Green Goblin cackled as he swung around the edge of the support that Clint was perched on. “Say goodbye to your little _Captain_!”

“Son of a bitch!” Jan howled, across the headsets, and the little pixie skidded across the sky, sparks flicking at the Goblin, who just swung his hover contraption around the other way, and swung through the air as though he was a surfer on the ocean, riding a wave. The Green Goblin spread his arms out as he flew, flinging more of the little bombs behind him, erupting in the air and knocking Jan away.

“Halt, fiend!” Thor shouted, swinging Mjolnir like a sword.

“Halt yourself!” The laughing villain screeched, and swung more of the bombs at the god. They wouldn’t hurt Thor the same way that they hurt the street and presumably Captain America, but they were certainly able to knock him flying, and the god let out a shout of anger as they erupted violently and firey in his face.

“Woah!” Johnny burst through the eruption of flames, one of the few people that could do that and _not_ face actual damage, trying to knock the Goblin off his machine.

The problem was, sometimes villains weren’t dangerous just because they were nuts, they were dangerous because they were willing to do almost anything. In this case, the Green Goblin was dangerous because he suddenly dropped his Goblin Glider, and apparently having no concern for whether or not he was going to get burned, he wrapped his gloved hands around the Human Torch’s left ankle – then suddenly electricity arched from those gloves, crackling along Johnny’s body. Johnny _howled_ , a pained sort of scream that seemed to come from a very deep place inside his body, and the flames that engulfed him that he was basically made out of abruptly went out. With a roar of maniacal laughter, the Green Goblin released Johnny’s foot, and the blue-spandex-suited mutated man dropped from the sky like a stone.

“ _Johnny_!” Tony’s robotically suit modified voice arched across the Avenger’s headsets, almost painfully loud, and Iron Man took to the air again.

He didn’t reach the falling Torch in time to stop him from hitting the pavement, but Hulk _did_ , and the massive green monster caught the falling figure the same way that Clint remembered being caught by him before, slamming to the ground, which buckled and cracked under the impact. The Hulk bared his teeth up at the other green creature, and let out a window rattling bellow of anger, still cradling Johnny in the crook of his arm.

Clint snarled, furiously, and began firing again. At least if he couldn’t stop him, maybe at least he could slow the Goblin. Enough for Thor or someone else to get him out of the sky.

“ _Take him out_!” Captain America howled, not that it really needed saying.

Still laughing as though this was the most entertaining thing in the world, the Green Goblin swung lower, between the rows of cars, spreading his hands out as though he was some kind of rock star, reaching out to his adoring fans. The people inside the cars cringed back from the windows, trying to get away from the villain, as far as they could manage to get without actually getting out of their cars. As he arched around the front of a school bus, probably of students trying to go on a field trip, or something, this time of day, he paused in the air, his masked face just as maniacal looking as ever, fingers wiggling like a magician eager to show off his newest trick. “Oooh, lookit the little _kiddies_ , Avengers! Don’t you think they’d like to be involved in the _fun_?!”

“No!” Someone shouted over the headsets, and Clint had absolutely no idea who it was. But he agreed.

The Goblin chortled in laughter, and produced a trio of bright orange bulbs from his shoulder bag. He wiggled them for a moment, then pitched them straight through the front window of the school bus, where they rolled down the aisle between the seats, and even from this distance, he could see the movement of screaming children scrambling to get up onto the seats, trying to get away from the rolling projectiles.

“Get the children off the bus!” That was the Captain, again.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Clint muttered, mostly to himself, but he had already slid off of the support tower of the Bridge, and was darting down the thick suspension wires of the bridge itself. Probably stupid under the best of circumstances, even if he _wasn’t_ pregnant and the Green Goblin wasn’t flying around trying to blow everything up, but he wasn’t thinking about the fact that anything was different from normal, he was thinking about the fact that he’d been practically raised in a circus. These wires were practically sidewalks compared to some of the wires he’d seen people walking on before, and he had enough practice with this that he deemed it worth it. If he wanted to get down there to try and save the children – and good god, he wanted to get down there and try and save the children – then he had to do what he had to do. Bow in hand, he moved rapidly, footsteps light on the thick metal wires.

Someone – a civilian, he thought – was trying to get the back door of the school bus open, but there was smoke spilling out of the windows, now, and god, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what kind of smoke bomb the Goblin had used.

“Rwaugh!” The Hulk bellowed, leaping towards the Goblin, catching the end of the Glider and jerking it around.

The Goblin, for his part, just laughed, and electricity coursed through the whole machine, throwing the massive Avenger away from it. The Hulk slammed down on the top of the massive trailer of a transport truck, which crumpled and collapsed under him, like it was made of nothing more substantial than tin foil.

It was Natasha that finally got the back door of the bus open, gas and children spilling out it. They were coughing and sobbing, but at least they were _alive_.

Clint got to the lowest part of the massive suspension wire, and crouched down on the wide metal support, tugging another arrow from the quiver, one of the explosive ones, and fired at the moving target of the Green Goblin. He liked his targets moving. Made them far more challenging to hit, but he _enjoyed_ a challenge. His arrow spiraled through the sky like a textbook example of the perfect shot, but the Goblin _caught_ the arrow, right out of the air.

That was fine, Clint thought, it would still blow, that would still –

The Goblin’s head swiveled to look in the direction of where the arrow had come from, and except for the fact that he was wearing goggles and Clint couldn’t guarantee it had actually happened, he swore that their eyes actually made contact. Then the Green Goblin tilted his head to the side, just slightly, and threw the arrow down into the roof of one of the cars below.

“No!” He gasped, scrambling to deactivate the arrow before it blew. His explosives, the ones that Tony had developed specially for him, they were impressive. Hell, they could burn straight through metal if necessary. He didn’t want to kill the people in the car because of collateral damage.

The arrow deactivated, Clint went to tug another out of his quiver when a black metal weapon shaped like a bat but made of blades struck him, cutting through the string of his bow.

People, Clint had discovered, seemed to think that a bow string was no big deal to break. They didn’t understand the sheer amount of pressure that was created on the bow by the string being held in place, and Clint’s drawback on this particular bow was about two hundred and forty pounds. Strong enough that you had to train for years before you could wield a bow like this – and even then, it wasn’t something that anyone else he’d encountered could do. Strong enough that when the string snapped, the bow’s recurve snapped back into its relaxed position, and one of the two severed ends of the string struck him in the face. The bow’s string was custom made by Tony too, a compound material that was partially made of Kevlar, of all things.

The bow string slashed across his face, tearing the skin open, and Clint – despite all his practice and his skills and his usually impeccable balance – skidded backwards.

And _off_ the Brooklyn Bridge.

If his bow wasn’t broken, Clint would know exactly what to do. Fire one of his grappling arrows, catch himself, swing onto the bridge itself, be safe.

But his bow _was_ broken, and what the fuck was he supposed to do when his bow was busted?

 _Oh god_ , he thought, as the wind whistled past him, and he plummeted downwards. _Me and the baby are both going to die_.

“Hawkeye!” Someone bellowed in his headset.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped.

Thor slammed into his side like a linebacker, completely cutting his downwards progression sharply, jerking him instead to the side. Breathless, he clutched with his free hand at Thor’s armour, trying to draw in a single breath and completely unable to do so as the wind whipped past them both, and they slammed bodily into the water of the Hudson river. This was exactly what he’d been afraid was going to happen, but at least this hadn’t been a straight drop, and though the water swirled and almost bubbled around them, at least he was still conscious. He wouldn’t have been, if Thor hadn’t stepped in.

A moment later, they burst from the surface of the water together, and Clint sucked in a new breath, finally. “ _Fuck_!”

“Are you hale, Knight Hawkeye?!” Thor barked.

“Just fine,” he gasped, gagging slightly on water, and lifting his head to look at the other – blinking at him. Thor’s hair hung straight into his face, like the before in a shampoo commercial, before the person flicked their hair back in a dramatic wave. Clint couldn’t even see the god’s face. “Thanks.”

Reaching up, Thor pushed his dripping blond hair back off his face, then curled his arms properly around Clint, and began to rise out of the water.

“The Goblin?” Clint rasped, pressing his hand to his side. His ribs apparently didn’t like the impact, because they seemed to be screaming at him, and every time he breathed too deeply, they would ache. Yeah, he was definitely going to need a check up after this, to make sure that he didn’t have any broken ribs. He wasn’t an expert or anything, but he was pretty damn sure that given the upheaval of the rest of his life, that adding a broken rib to the mixture was probably not going to bode well for him. Clutching at Thor’s armour, he demanded again, voice cracking, “The Goblin?”

“Dealt with.” Thor said, and settled lightly on the asphalt of the bridge, lowering Clint to stand on his feet.

“That sounds ominous.” He murmured.

The god smiled faintly, pushing his lanky blond hair back off his forehead again, looking like a dripping mess but at least he smiled, brightly. “Well it might be, my friend. But the Goblin is no longer a threat to the good people on this bridge. And you are safe. Yes? Safe?”

“Yeah.” Clint took a deep breath. “I’m just fine. _You_ look like a drowned rat, but…”

Thor laughed.

Running his hand through his dripping hair, he pressed his palm against his side again, wincing. Ribs still ached. “How’s Johnny? I saw him fall, but I didn’t see if he was okay or not.”

The other’s smile faded slightly, and Thor took a deep breath. “The Man of Iron has brought his husband to the hospital for medical attention. He’s… alive. But it’s as though I had struck him with Mjolnir, the injuries he is suffering from. Our Widow says that he should be all right with the proper care, so long as it is given promptly.”

“So he _did_ get electrocuted.” Clint said, swallowing.

“Aye,” he nodded. “Ah… it appears our friend the Wolverine is here…”

Logan looked absolutely thunderously _pissed right off_ when he marched up towards them, and straight up to Clint, until he was standing literally within inches of him, directly within his personal bubble.

“Hey, Logan.” Clint said, pretty sure he knew _exactly_ why the other was pissed off, and suddenly he felt really insanely guilty that he hadn’t told him about Bruce’s meeting with him, about the doctor telling him that if he didn’t want to, he didn’t have to do this. He knew Logan wanted this – even if it was just because those stupid Wild Man instincts of his told him that he really wanted a baby – but wasn’t it _his_ choice, too? But he wished he’d told him. Now he wished he’d said something, mentioned at least that Bruce had told him that there was a way out, that Clint had been planning on taking it, because if it was dangerous both ways he’d rather it be dangerous in the way that he didn’t have to carry a parasite around in his belly, but he just wished he’d _told_ him. Guilt didn’t suit Clint. He didn’t like feeling guilty. “I’m fine. In case you were worried.”

The other man clenched his jaw, then reached up to touch the wound on his face, from the bow string. He hadn’t even realized how much it hurt until that moment. Such a sharp sting. “Don’t do that again.”

Clint took a deep breath, and started barking that the other man didn’t get to tell him what to do, but Logan was already moving, marching away faster than he’d come in the first place, as though he didn’t want to be near him anymore, and was trying to distance himself.

Thor blinked. “That was strange, friend Clint.”

“Yes.” He agreed, running his hand through his wet hair. “It was.”

 

+++

 

“How’s he doing?”

Dr. McCoy, who didn’t typically come by the Avengers mansion unless someone was in really bad shape, looked up from the clipboard he was jotting notes on. Smiling cheerfully, he reached up to tug off his glasses – they looked absolutely ridiculously tiny on his massive blue head, anyway – and answered, “He’s doing well, Clint. And you?”

“I’m doing fine,” he waved that off, stepping further into the room, considering Johnny, where he lay on the bed, eyes closed as he breathed, slowly. Sleeping. “He’s really fine?”

“Well, I think it’s possible that an injury like he sustained would have killed someone else,” Hank admitted, stepping up beside Clint, so that they stood side by side, looking down at the bed. “But that radiation… in space, what mutated him, I think it changed his body enough that it didn’t affect him the way it would have affected others. Which is fortunate. Our lives are forced to be dangerous, but…”

“Trying to explain to Mary and Junior why their daddy isn’t coming home?” Clint murmured. “That’d be pretty hard to do.”

“It would.” Hank agreed, with a nod. “Tony’s been a mess.”

He groaned, shaking his head. “Drinking?”

“Drinking.” The doctor agreed, quietly. “He’d been showing remarkable restraint, in that department, but I could understand why he might lose control when his husband nearly died.”

“And the kids?” He glanced up at Hank, frowning slightly.

“Doing fine.” Hank smiled again, patting his back, very gentle despite the fact that he was absolutely massive and powerful. “They’ve come to see him a few times.”

“Has he woken up at all?” Clint asked, swallowing.

“Yes,” he nodded. “A few times. Not for very long, and he’s fairly groggy, but he’s been waking up, he’ll be fine. Wish he had a power like Logan, though, that’d be handy to have, wish I could just bottle up his healing power and feed it to all of my patients, especially those that are really injured, like Johnny. Would be a fine ability, wouldn’t it?”

He snorted. “Yeah. Would be.”

Hank took a deep breath, then hesitated, and patted Clint’s back again. “He’s fine, Clint. Go take care of yourself.”

Clint blinked at him.

“You look like you haven’t slept since the Bridge,” the fuzzy blue doctor said, gently. “Go get some sleep.”

“Yeah… good idea.” He took a deep breath. “Thanks.”

 

+++

 

Logan was extremely hard to find, for the next couple days.

Actually, ‘hard to find’ wasn’t the right way to say it, either. ‘Impossible’ was a little more accurate. As in, impossible enough to find that he was pretty sure that the other man, his friend but not his boyfriend because Clint was _not_ going to go there, was actually hiding from him. Possibly wasn’t even in the mansion, though he didn’t know where in the world he would have gone. To the X-Men mansion? Yeah right. Logan had actually told him a couple times that he liked it better here than there. He’d rather be here.

So where the fuck had he gotten himself to?

Clint had made sure that his ribs weren’t broken, because they weren’t, they were just bruised, but then he made sure that he didn’t actually want to go meet Bruce. Bruce said he was ready, but he didn’t go to talk to him, not until he talked to Logan, first.

When Logan _did_ show up, he was sullen and glowery and grumpy, and didn’t seem to want to talk to Clint.

Well, fuck you very much, animal man, Clint needed to talk to him.

He waited until the other was alone, spotted him down in the garden out by the greenhouse, walking around amongst the trees, and went to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of beer. Beer bottle in hand, he marched right down the stairs, out towards the greenhouse, and headed to the tree he knew he had seen Logan sitting under about a thousand times before, and sure enough. There he sat.

“Beer time.” Clint held the bottle outwards, with a faint smirk. “I need you to drink this. Desperately. And I need you to enjoy it, because you’re supposed to be drinking it for the both of us, and I need to live vicariously through you.”

Logan took a deep breath, then slowly lifted his head, looking up at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Drink. If I can’t, at least you can. _Drink_.” Clint wiggled the bottle at him. “What, you’re scared of beer now? Or is it because I’m the one bringing it to you?”

Logan grunted, but took the bottle, cracking the cap off and taking a sip of the beer.

Clint sighed, and slid down to sit on the grass in front of him, crossing his legs as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he considered the other man. “So. I think we need to talk. About a lot of things. Mostly, the thing I want to talk to you about is why you’re acting like a pissy teenaged girl, but… after that, there’s some important stuff to go over.”

“I’m not – “ Logan started, then stopped, and took another swig of the beer instead of answering him.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Clint rolled his eyes. “Look, I get it. You’re freaked out cause I was an idiot and I almost died, and therefore I risked your unborn child.”

“What? That’s – “ He hesitated again. “You _scared_ me. You. Not a baby. _You_ scared me.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously a baby can’t scare you, it’s only been about thirteen weeks. I mean, apparently it’s about the size of a lemon right now. Doesn’t even look like a baby yet. Well, sort of, I guess… like an alien baby or something, but… okay, no, that’s… part of what I wanted to talk to you about. Okay. The… fetus. The… not baby. Baby. Whatever it is. Bruce said… Bruce said he’s found a way out of it. A way to get it… gone. If I don’t want it.”

Logan stiffened, fingers tight on the mouth of the beer bottle.

“And I just want to make sure… I mean… you know this is my decision, right?”

Swallowing, the Wolverine nodded. “Yeah. I know it is. Don’t have to like it. But I don’t have to live it.”

“Well… that’s not _entirely_ true, I mean… you have to live with whatever decisions I make under these circumstances too, but… yeah. No, I mean, you’re right. It’s my decision, not yours, but… I’m not gonna do it. I was going to. No hesitation, I was going to say… get this thing out of me, I don’t want to _be_ pregnant, I don’t want to deal with this, I don’t… I want to be _me_ again. Not have to deal with this shit, like I didn’t have to deal with this shit for the first three decades of my life. I was gonna do it, no hesitation. But I’m not going to now. I… am probably insane, but I’m going to keep the baby.”

“…what made you change your mind?” Logan asked, quietly, slowly setting the beer bottle down.

“The thing on the bridge.” Clint cleared his throat, awkwardly. “When I fell… I mean, the thing that scared you. When I fell. Know what I thought?”

Logan waited, watching him.

“That when I died… the baby was gonna die too.” He took a deep breath, and ran his hand through his hair. “So yeah, I kinda freaked out. It made me realize that I was… I didn’t want to lose the baby. I was scared that if I died, the baby would die, and I didn’t want that to happen.”

They sat in silence for a long few minutes, neither of them saying anything. Then Logan reached out, quietly, and gently curled his fingers against the side of Clint’s jaw, “I’m sorry,” he said, at last.

“Nothing to be sorry for. You apologize for the stupidest shit sometimes,” Clint murmured, then laughed, sort of breathlessly. “You don’t need to apologize. Now okay, when I’m laying on the surgical bed and they’re cutting your baby out of me and I’m screaming like an idiot and begging for the good drugs, okay, _then_ , then you might want to try to start apologizing. Because right about then, I’ll probably _want_ some apologizing. But right now… we’re fine, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. Well. So long as we’re fine and you’re not pissed off at me… you’re _not_ pissed off at me, are you?” He hesitated.

Logan let out a soft snort, and shook his head.

“Good. Well. If you’re not pissed at me, then we can go back into the house, and _you_ and I… we are going to have so much fucking sex. Good?”

“Good.” Logan murmured, and shifted forward again, pressing his lips against Clint’s.

 

+++

 

Angry sex, as it happened, was awesome.

Not that either of them was terribly angry, but Clint was willing to pretend they were, if the sex was going to be that fucking amazing when they were.

 

+++

 

“Heya, Tony… can I have an awkward conversation with you?”

Tony didn’t even look up from the blueprint that he was working on, fiddling little bits of light in the spread of a huge holographic manuscript that JARVIS was projecting for him, but he did say, cheerfully, “Sure, Clint, my favourite kind of conversations are the super awkward ones. What’s up? Here to complain that you haven’t gotten laid in years and you’re jealous of the incredibly happy and incredibly kinky sex life that my husband I have now that he’s out of the hospital and I’m frankly surprised I’m not in the bedroom right now?”

“No, that’s… not been a problem.” Clint smirked slightly, and settled on one of the stools that were scattered around the lab. And pushed it deliberately over so that he sat in the middle of the blueprint, disrupting the neat lines.

Sighing, Tony lifted his head. “So what’s the problem, Barton?”

“How did you know you wanted a baby?”

The genius engineer blinked at him. “…I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Well, you… decided you wanted a baby. Out of nowhere, one day you walked up to Johnny and said ‘I want a baby’, we all know how the story goes. Hell, I was _there_ when you said it. So what made you decide? What made you go ‘I want a baby’ all of a sudden?”

“Well, it _wasn’t_ all of a sudden, not really. I had sort of always wanted a child, really. I had always wanted someone that would pass on my legacy. But… it’s not an easy thing, having a family. Actually, it’s very easy, really, but when you don’t just want _a_ baby, but a baby that’s going to actually be a perfect heir… that’s a lot harder to do. I wanted an heir, not just a _baby_. So I went to Johnny, cause… well. He was the closest thing I had to a lover, right? Boyfriends and girlfriends had never worked out for me in the past, but Johnny was good and brave, and… do I really need to go into all the flowery language? If I was going to have a baby, I wanted it to be with _him_.”

“Right. So, ah… did you have to like… mentally prepare yourself?”

“Well, no. Cause it wasn’t like I went from not wanting them one day to wanting them the next, I just… wanted to have an heir. Always had. I didn’t actually plan on two, sort of thought I’d only have the one. I mean, obviously, I’m _glad_ I have the twins, now. They’re a handful sometimes, but I’m really glad I have both of them. Sometimes I even think about what it’d be like to have another one, but the only surrogate I’d accept now is Mary Jane, and she doesn’t deserve this shit again.” Tony shrugged, looking down at the blueprints that still surrounded Clint, then shook his head. “Besides, we’re Avengers. It’s hard enough to raise _two_ kids when you’re an Avenger, because of all the shit we go through on a daily basis.”

Clint frowned, seriously considering that.

“I gotta ask, though.” Tony shifted on his stool, considering him. “Why are you asking? I mean, it’s kind of a weird question, Clint.”

“Naw, s’not a weird question,” he grinned at him. “I mean, with all the munchkins running around this place… who knows, maybe next week I’ll decide that I’d really like to find a woman and knock her up, or something. You know, like a normal person would.”

“Like a _normal person_.” The genius laughed. “God, you’re weird. Okay, I’ll bite. Like a… non Avenger, then.”

“Yeah.” Clint snickered, leaning back, looking up at the blue lights all around them. “I didn’t used to be one, you know. Maybe the day will come when I’m not an Avenger again.”

“Bullshit.” Tony answered, without hesitation. “Once an Avenger, always an Avenger. It’s like wedding vows. Til death do we part. And even then. We go on into the afterlife. We’ll be in one of Thor’s nine realms in the afterlife, kicking the asses of some of the creatures from the other worlds. Avengers even in death.”

“And if I’m dead cause I betrayed the Avengers, or something?” He countered.

“Eh, then we probably deserved it.” The other shrugged. “We’re not SHIELD, Clint, we don’t kick people out because they betray our trust, or something, we’re good guys mostly because it’s kind of awesome being a good guy. I mean, it’s kind of awesome to be a bad guy too, I hear. Except that I don’t like innocent people dying, and as I hear it, villains tend to have _those_ by the bucket load. So… no villainy for us. We’re good guys. So if you went dark side… eh. We’d reform you.”

“Reform me, eh?” Clint snickered, amused by that.

“Yeah, we could totally do it. Actually… _Natasha_ could do it. She’d walk up to you. And be sexy. Like… _really_ sexy. And suddenly you’ll be dying to be an Avenger again.”

“Because… Natasha walks up to me being sexy?” He repeated, dubiously, arching a single brow. “Are you _drunk,_ Stark? Cause right now, you’re sounding pretty damn drunk.”

“…no. Sadly.” Tony waved a hand, expansively, as though trying to indicate the whole of everything that made up his life. “Johnny said I ought to give that kind of stuff up, when we had children, and I _happened_ to agree, because I was a mess when he was gone, and… anyway. I don’t really drink anymore. I mean, at parties. Obviously. I’d be a bad host if I didn’t have a glass of champagne with everyone. And when Johnny was in the hospital, after the Goblin… yeah. But I’m not drunk. I’m… _actually_ trying to figure out why you’d ask a question like the baby thing.”

“So… the shit conversation I’m getting, basically, is like a… filter program.” Clint smirked, crossing his arms as he considered the other man. “A popup, to distract me while you run a more important program in the background. You run your brain like a computer, basically.”

Tony blinked, then shrugged. “I’m not sure why that’s a surprise, exactly.”

“It’s not, really, actually, it sort of explains an awful lot about you.” The archer stood, stretching widely. He was wearing one of the massive sweatshirts again, sort of hiding within it, but until he had a chance to talk to Bruce, to tell him that he planned on keeping the baby, thank you, he didn’t want to have to explain anything to his teammates. Not until he had the words, anyway. “So what conclusion have you come to, oh great computer mind of Stark?”

“…you have a girlfriend.”

Clint blinked at him. “…that’s the conclusion you’ve come to?”

“Yep. That’s the conclusion I’ve come to.” Tony smirked, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, looking up at him. “Am I right? Have you got a girlfriend? Is that what this is? That you’ve gotten yourself a girlfriend and you’re seriously thinking about starting a family. Which is also, coincidentally, why you didn’t even blink when I suggested Natasha coming and seducing you, because you personally think that your new girlfriend is so much hotter than Natasha.”

He considered that for a long moment.

Yes, Clint thought, he was actually considering whether he considered Natasha or Logan to be hotter. Sort of considered them side by side, and pondered which he would like to have better. Well, Natasha would certainly do a better strip tease, but Logan would be better at just like, ripping Clint out of his clothes. _Cutting_ him out of his clothes. Oh _man_. Oh man, that had to happen. Like… right away. Okay, but, yeah, but Natasha couldn’t possibly knock him up. That was a definite bonus in her category… but then, she also definitely couldn’t fuck him, either, which meant that there was a bonus for Logan there, because _hello_ , sort of important. Redheads were totally hot though, and the way she _moved_ when she was killing enemies… okay, yeah, that got him all sorts of tingly in all sorts of places. But then again, a snarling Logan flicking claws out to gut someone that was attacking them… also kind of awesome and tingle inducing. Dammit, they both had redeeming qualities!

But then Natasha tended to only use seduction when she was trying to get something out of him, and Logan, while not exactly _seductive_ , was really good at just sort of knowing where to be when Clint needed him there the most.

Last night, they hadn’t even _had_ sex. Had just laid there on the bed, Clint curled against Logan’s chest like he was the little spoon, brushing his fingertips up and down the man’s hairy arm, as they just lay there in silence, close and silent and warm. Not romantic, dammit, because it wasn’t. It was… solidarity. Brothers in arms, curled in silence that didn’t need to be filled with fucking words.

“Yeah, okay. Maybe.”

Tony cackled, spinning himself around in a circle on his stool, looking inordinately pleased with himself. “Ha! I knew it. Matter of time before ol’ Clint Barton the Hawkeye got himself a nest and settled down.”

“Oh god, don’t make bird metaphors.” He groaned.

“Oh, I am going to make _so_ many bird metaphors.” Tony grinned, deviously. “Gonna get yourself an egg and everything, Hawkeye?”

“I am going to shoot you from the rafters.” Clint said, pointing at him.

“Aww, gonna teach your baby birdy to shoot?” He wriggled his eyebrows. “Give them a bird like name like Eagle or Gull or Wing?”

“Shoot you in the _balls_ from the rafters.”

 

+++

 

“…what are you humming?”

Clint glanced up at Logan, startled by the question. Bruce wasn’t here yet, he was running late, probably something with the big guy. He didn’t ask.

Okay, he was totally going to ask.

“What do you mean, what am I humming?” He asked, pulling his thumbnail out of his mouth, because Clint was absolutely not chewing on his thumbnail, because he absolutely was not nervous about this conversation he had to have with Bruce. At least Logan was here with him. If he had to tell him that he was going to keep the unexpected was not planned for baby, then he wanted the father of said unexpected was not planned for baby to be there with him. “I’m not humming.”

“You have been humming the same song over and over for the entire time we have been sitting here.” Logan countered, tapping his fingertips on his upper arms.

“Have not.” He muttered, rebelliously.

“Have. So.”

“Nope. I haven’t been humming at all. Just sitting here. Silently. Not chewing on my fingernails because I’m not nervous. You’re… not nervous too, right?” Clint checked, clearing his throat, awkwardly.

“No reason to be nervous.” Logan shrugged.

“Bullshit. You know, I know this might not be your first baby, or anything, but I defy you to tell me the last baby you _remember_ having, okay? Cause I know for a fact you can’t name a single one of them. So maybe you’ve had thirty six babies in your many, many years or something, but this is _my_ first baby, and as far as _you_ remember, this is your first baby too, dickbag, so let’s deal with the whole not-being-nervous thing together, okay?”

“Fine.” The Wolverine tapped his fingers on his arms still. “So stop humming.”

“I’m not – oh god.”

Logan arched a brow, considering him.

He cleared his throat. “I just realized that I was humming. I actually was.”

He nodded, but was clearly waiting to see what Clint had to say.

“…don’t laugh?”

Logan arched a brow.

“…okay, that’s clearly Logan speak for ‘I’m going to laugh if I feel like laughing so say it anyway’.” Clint took a deep breath. “ _Papa Don’t Preach._ ”

There was silence in response to that statement. Logan just sort of managed to look confused.

“What, you’ve never… oh come _on_ , what kind of music do you _listen_ to?” Clint groaned.

“Blues and jazz, mostly.”

“Blues and – wow. Okay. You are far older acting than I expected, at least the Cap listens to swing and happy cheerful stuff from the forties, I seriously think we may want to reevaluate this decision to have a child together because I think you are actually an ancient old man and I don’t know if we want our child being raised by a man that is probably mentally their great grandfather.”

“Shut up,” Logan actually laughed, swatting at his head, lightly, just sort of cuffing his ear. “So what’s this song?”

“ _Papa Don’t Preach_. It’s a song, been covered a few times, famously by Kelly Osbourne, you know, daughter of – you have no idea who I’m talking about,” he rolled his eyes, and shook his head. “Anyway, it was originally sang by Madonna, _please_ tell me you know who Madonna is?”

He frowned for a moment, then held his hands in front of his chest. “Pointy bra?”

“Pointy bra.” Clint grinned, pointing at him. “Knew you knew what I was talking about. Well, sort of, anyway. Anyway, it’s… catchy. Probably why I didn’t even realize I was humming it. Anyways, it’s… ah… it’s about a girl that finds out she’s pregnant, and her dad _hates_ her boyfriend, but she decides she wants to keep the baby anyway. So… papa don’t preach.”

“Hm.” Was the only response that Logan gave, a soft, almost non committal sound.

“…do _not_ make me sing it.”

Logan arched a brow.

“I’m not going to sing it. Singing is not one of my strong suits. But if you _insist_ … I’ll… pretend I don’t hate singing. Naw, I still hate it. Anyway, it’s all… you know… papa don’t preach, I’ve been losing sleep, papa don’t preach, I’m in trouble deep,” he _spoke_ the lyrics, did not sing them, thank you very much. Clint didn’t sing for a reason, and that reason generally involved breaking people’s eardrums. “But I made up my mind, I’m keeping my baby.”

“S’cute song.” The wild man said after a moment, and shrugged. “Fucking annoying when you _hum_ it, but…”

Clint laughed, and leaned over, thumping his head against the other’s shoulder, just letting it stay there. He was bound and determined to stop being stressed out about every little thing, if it was the last thing he did. Of course, if Logan’s skeleton was less lined with adamantium, that might mean that thumping his head down onto his shoulder would have maybe _hurt_ a little less, but…

The door of the lab suddenly opened, and Bruce bustled in, pausing when he realized they were there. Forgot that they were supposed to be meeting him, maybe. “Oh. Clint and Logan, of course…”

“Hey.” Clint lifted his head, taking a deep breath.

“I guess you’re here to…” He hesitated. “I mean, you’ve decided what you’re going to – “

“Keeping it.” Clint interrupted him.

Bruce paused, looking surprised by that answer, and slowly shifted to lean on his desk, sliding his glasses on. “…really. I thought you were dead set against… I mean, I really thought you wanted to – well, I’m glad to hear that, Clint. May I ask why?”

He shrugged, and the answer he gave was bullshit, but it wasn’t actually. Not completely. “It’s sort of an unusual thing, for two men to have a baby. So maybe we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe we should be… I dunno. Grateful, or something. So, ah… yeah. We’re keeping the baby.”

“Well. Admirable.” Bruce smiled, taking off his glasses to polish them on his shirt.

“Yeah. I am _super_ not looking forward to being pregnant for the next however many months, because I sort of… have been lead to believe that that is… going to suck, but… yeah. I’m gonna try. Maybe it won’t even work, maybe the baby’ll kill both of us, but… if it does, Wolverine here will avenge me, or something. I dunno, I’m rambling. Kind of freaked a little.” Clint cleared his throat. “So, ah… thanks for putting in all the time and effort to find a way for me to exercise my rights and all, but I guess I don’t need it. Keep it waiting in the wings though, you know, for after the baby is born, because I _don’t_ think I’m going to want to chance getting pregnant again. You can take out the whole damn thing this time. Remove all the girly bits. If we want more kids, _Logan_ can go hang out with Kele for awhile, grow him some new parts.”

Logan snorted at that.

“Hey, you laugh now, mister, but I’m being serious.” He pointed at the other. “You heal better than I do, you would bounce back to your pre-baby weight faster.”

“You are both very strange children.” Bruce declared, rubbing his face with his hand.

“Oi, take that back, Banner, Logan’s a very strange grandfather.”

“I don’t even know why I try, sometimes.” The doctor rolled his eyes, instead, and headed over to the pair, a scanner that sort of looked like a Star Trek tricorder in hand, and a Starkpad in the other. As it happened, the thing was _supposed_ to look like a Star Trek tricorder, Tony had specifically made it to look like one, but it had never gotten marketed because Pepper had taken one look at it and very emphatically said _no_. Apparently she didn’t relish the idea of a lawsuit for copyright infringement. So it was a tricorder for personal usage, which was why Bruce had it, and why he was using it now to get a reading on Clint. “Okay, let’s get a few things, then… blood pressure, blood sugar, those sorts of things. Make sure you’re doing all right.”

“That sounds like a bucket of laughs.” Clint said, crinkling his nose, and watching Bruce work. “You’re not x-raying me or something, are you? Hear that’s bad for, you know, babies.”

Bruce looked up from the Starkpad. “If you start lecturing me about what’s good and bad for the baby like Tony did when Mary Jane was pregnant, I am going to get Logan here to clonk you on the head so that I can take my tests in peace. Understand?”

“Logan wouldn’t do that to me.” He countered. “Would you, Logan?”

“Hm. Depends on how annoying you were being at the time.” He shrugged, and didn’t seem at all bothered by Clint’s yowl of displeasure and the swat he gave him. “What? You’d probably deserve it.”

“Why am I having your child again?” Clint demanded.

“Are you two…” Bruce was doing the carefully measured word thing again, which Clint had noticed he actually did quite a bit of. Maybe it was because he was expecting the Hulk to randomly decide that this was a good time to show up if he wasn’t careful about things like this. The doctor took a deep breath, then said, carefully, “Are you _together_?”

“What, like _dating_?” Clint blinked at him. “No. We’re not _dating_.”

“God no.” Logan agreed, shuddering slightly.

“All right. Sorry I asked.” Bruce cleared his throat, awkwardly, and kept scanning him, carefully. “All right… based on the research I’ve been doing, everything looks… normal. I mean, _considering_. You’re at thirteen weeks now, if my math is correct, so… you’re actually just entering your second trimester now. I’d normally say that means you’re usually out of the danger zone for miscarriage, but we already know from Mary Jane that this may not actually be true even if you _weren’t_ in an awkward sort of situation with the fact that you’re both men.”

“Yeah, I know. This is the point where I have to start taking it easy, and do light duty and – “

“No, this is the part when I tell you you’re not on _any_ duty.”

“…what do you mean?” Clint asked, startled by the statement, eyes narrowed. “Banner? _Bruce_? What do you mean, _no duty_?”

Bruce took a deep breath. “I’m going to be putting in an official report with SHIELD, I don’t really have another option, Clint. They have to know that one of their agents is in a situation that is potentially precarious to his health, and therefore, I have to take whatever measures are necessary to ensure that you _stay_ healthy. Both for yourself, and for the unborn child. I’ll need to make sure that you take care of yourself. And, based on what happened last week, on the Bridge… I think it’s probable that the only way to make sure you make safe is to make sure you sit out of Avengers missions entirely. Since _you_ all made me your doctor… I’m making a doctor decision. You’re off active duty, Hawkeye.”

“You – you can’t do that to me!” Clint protested, squawking.

“I can, I have, and I will make sure it’s enforced.” Bruce said, firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Logan will back me up on this.”

“Oh, don’t you even _dare_ bring him into this like I’m some hysterical housewife that needs to be taken care of!” He shouted, starting to _feel_ a little hysterical, as it was. “He is not my husband, and I don’t need to be taken off of active duty because of a _Bridge_ incident! If you will recall, the Green fucking Goblin was trying to kill a bus full of school children! What was I supposed to do, let them die?!”

“No. Clint. I’m not saying you did the wrong thing, because you _didn’t_.” Bruce said, with a sigh. “You did the right thing, actually. But the problem is… the right thing is _dangerous_. Right now danger is not exactly the sort of thing you should be doing, okay? This pregnancy is going to be dangerous enough as it is.”

“So – so you’re _benching_ me, basically?!”

“What are we, the Mighty Ducks?” Bruce groaned, holding up his hands. “We’re not a _sports team_ , we are – well… besides being the time bomb that we have been aptly described as many times, we are a rough assemblage of high trained professionals that deal with arguably insane criminals on an almost daily basis. Really, one could say that we exhibit many of the signs of insanity by attempting to save the world on a daily basis and expecting it somehow to get _better_ the next day, but either way, we fight the criminally insane. We fight men and women that want to kill us, and do not hesitate to use weapons that have been outlawed by every lawmaking body known on this planet! Under those circumstances, Clint, what other option do I _have_?!”

“I dunno… letting me take care of my own fucking health?!”

“I’m your _doctor_ , Clint!” Bruce threw up his hands. “Because you made me your doctor! You all just started coming to me and assuming that because I have that title I’m the one to take care of you! So when I see my self-appointed patient doing something that is _going_ to get himself and probably also his child killed, I have to step in for your own good! It’s not permanent. It’s _just_ until the baby is born.”

“I’m not five, Banner! I can take care of myself!”

“I know you can!” Bruce slapped his hands down on the edge of the desk he was still leaning on. “I never tried to suggest that you couldn’t! But if I did not step in to ensure the safety of both yourself and this life that _you_ have chosen to carry, I would not be doing my job!”

“So you – so you’re forcing me to – and if I _don’t_ quit?” Clint demanded.

“Well… that’s where I have Logan for backup,” the doctor gestured at the man sitting beside him.

“Sorry, bub, but I ain’t backing you up on this one. If you think it’s safer, fine. I don’t want him hurt neither. But I am _not_ about to force him to sit by if he don’t want to sit by. I’m not a babysitter.”

“And he’s _definitely_ not _my_ babysitter.” Clint said, firmly.

Bruce took a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm himself down. After all, he _was_ the Hulk when he got pissed off. Wouldn’t do any of them any good if he just started turning green and grumpy over this issue. “I am just… trying to find the balance here. Between what I know as a doctor, and what I know as your friend, Clint. I’m trying to take care of you.”

He groaned, and slumped down in his seat. Couldn’t even do _that_ properly anymore because his now well-developing stomach got in the way of a proper slump. “The worst part is that I _know_ that. I _know_ you’re trying to take care of me. But that does not make the fact that your way of attempting to take care of me really fucking _sucks_ and I don’t think that I should have to be sidelined just because I got knocked up!”

The doctor hesitated, then said, slowly, “Wait, so… are you taking my advice, then?”

“Wait, it’s _advice_? I _do_ have the right to ignore you?” Clint bolted back up again, fists clenched on the edge of his seat.

Logan and Bruce simultaneously said, firmly, “ _No_!”

 

+++

 

Clint slammed the door to Bruce’s lab shut with extreme prejudice, which was sort of funny, since Tony was _fairly_ sure he’d programmed JARVIS to not _allow_ door slamming. Under extreme circumstances, though, JARVIS had let _him_ circumvent that programming, so maybe Clint really needed some good old fashioned door slamming. Tony could appreciate that. The archer stormed into the living room, and threw himself down heavily in the armchair in the corner. He was followed at a much more sedate pace by Logan and Bruce, the former of which settled on the arm of the couch, and the latter leaned on the wall just inside the door, looking tired.

“What’s got your knickers in a knot?” Natasha frowned at her old partner, considering Clint’s glower.

He didn’t answer, so much as he made an unintelligible snarl and sunk further down in his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

“He… got some bad news.” Bruce said, delicately.

“That is not a ‘bad news’ face.” Johnny waved at Clint, bouncing Mary on his knee. She giggled, happily, and Clint’s expression, if possible, got darker. “’Bad news’ face is going to hunt down some HYDRA agents and shoot ‘em until he feels better. _That_ is ‘I want to murder another Avenger but SHIELD won’t let me’ face.”

“Terribly familiar with that feeling, Johnny?” Jan smirked.

“Well, I _am_ married to Tony Stark,” he waved, expansively at his husband, who snorted and cuffed him upside the back of his head.

“So what _is_ wrong with you?” Tony demanded, grinning at Clint.

“It’s somewhat – “ Bruce started.

“Tell ‘em.” Clint interrupted him, still hunched low in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, tapping one of his toes on the carpet. He’d made his decision, after all, and while he was _really_ not looking forward to the next few months that were coming up, he may as well tell them now. Two trimesters left and then there would be a baby, and that you _definitely_ couldn’t hide, so fine. He may as well tell them now. May as well let everyone know what was going on. But _he_ didn’t want to tell anyway, so if Bruce wanted to take over, Bruce was allowed to tell. Glowering at the wall, rather than ay anyone in particular, he said, again, “You may as well tell ‘em.”

Clearing his throat, the scientist hesitated, then admitted, “Clint is pregnant.”

Steve blinked at him. “…excuse me?”

“Holy crap, it _is_ catching.” Jan blinked at them, then threw her arms up in front of herself. “No one give it to me! I don’t wanna get pregnant! I’ll adopt, or something! I don’t wanna catch it!”

“Ironically, you’re one of the few I’d expect _could_ actually catch pregnancy,” Bruce grumbled, mostly to himself.

“But that’s not possible, is it?” Pepper frowned. “Loki?”

The god pressed his fingers to his own chest, looking wounded. “I did nothing to the archer. This time.”

Thor, who had been remarkably quiet in his corner – he’d been trying to build Lego structures with his niece and nephew, and though Maggie seemed to have a rather impressive structure going, the one he and Joseph had built just sort of looked like a flat board with random blocks put on it higgledy piggeldy – spoke up, finally, voice booming as he said, cheerfully, “Congratulations are in order, friend Clint!”

Clint grumbled unflattering things under his breath, and slumped further down in his seat.

“But seriously,” Tony interrupted Clint’s pity party with a cheerful grin. “How _is_ that possible? You’re, you know, _human_. Not a god, not magic, not all that scien – did he get kidnapped by aliens? Is that what this is? Alien experimentation?”

“I don’t think that’s – “ Bruce started again.

Just as before, a grumpy Clint interrupted him, huffing as he threw up his hands. “You might as well tell them everything, Bruce.”

He hesitated, again, then let out a long breath, and made a sort of helpless ‘if you insist’ sort of motion with his hands. “Right, well, you remember how they explained that mutant they met back in Canada, Kele? That they rescued her by bringing her to Professor Xavier? Well, what they failed to mention to you all is what her mutation is. Kele has a mutation that is not entirely under her control. It’s mostly instinctual. When she’s threatened, or terrified, she releases pheromones that react to human and mutant hormones, and causes those around her to… have an uncontrollable desire to have sex. Immediately.”

Clint let out a self deprecating snort, and flopped his head back again.

Pepper blinked. “Seriously?”

“Oh yes,” he nodded, smiling faintly. “I’ve been speaking with Dr. McCoy about this, and he’s confirmed the findings, since she arrived at the school. It doesn’t affect her, it affects those around her, and for about three weeks, those around her were Clint and Logan. Apparently with prolonged exposure, there appears to be a secondary symptom, in that… it increases fertility. To the point where if fertility was not an option before, her mutation makes it so.” Bruce seemed to be picking his words _very_ carefully. “Clint… as it turns out… is now intersexed.”

Steve blinked at him, owlishly. “What does _that_ mean?”

Jan choked on her coffee, and spluttered as she tried to recover. This, apparently, was hilarious, as both Junior and Mary laughed and clapped their chubby hands at her display. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, but did you just say that Clint is both a man _and_ a woman?”

“No, not exactly, see there are different points on the spectrum of…” Bruce hesitated, then shook his head. “Physically, Clint has always been wholly male. He developed normally. He was always male, and I’ve combed through the SHIELD personal and medical files, there is no record that this was ever suspected before. He’s shown no signs of being… well, not entirely one gender or another, before. We thought that perhaps he was born this way, at first, but it appears that this is wholly new. It seems that Kele’s mutation had a seconday response in him. When his hormones were thrown into an upheaval, it seems to have triggered some kind of secondary puberty. Almost overnight, he grewan entire second set of internal sexual organs… completely developed, from literally nothing before. He was lucky, I think, in that none of the secondary levels of puberty seem to have appeared, just the creation and development of those organs, but… to be honest, I’ve never once heard of this sort of thing happening. Richard found some SHEILD files suggesting that Kele has caused this to happen before, but I’d never seen anything like this. I actually misdiagnosed it at first, I was convinced that it was more natural, and that he wouldn’t have to worry about it, but I was wrong. If I didn’t have concrete proof that it had, there is absolutely no way that I would have believed that it was even possible. This is not the sort of thing that _happens_ , but I suppose such a thing can happen, once you get mutations involved, and… apparently this is what happens to young human men when they’re in the presence of extremely unusual mutants.”

“So you are basically now a chick with a dick?” Johnny arched a brow. “Classy.”

“Dick!” Mary chirped, bouncing happily. “Dick, dick, dick!”

“Speaking of _classy_ , Johnny…” Pepper said dryly, and he laughed, ducking his head.

“I’m still _me_ ,” Clint snapped. “I just got girl inside parts.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “Wait, if you’re pregnant, and Logan knocked you up – I mean, I _assume_ Logan knocked you up, with your lost weekend romp in the woods, and all – does that mean you grew a – “ He hesitated, and glanced at his son, where he was settled on his knee, watching his father with wide, innocent eyes, two droolly fingers in his mouth, and settled on, “A you know what?”

“I do _not_ have a pussy!” Clint yelled, probably louder than strictly necessary.

“Pussy!” Maggie sang at him from the corner.

“Do _not_ encourage that!” Steve yelped, flushed. “That is not a good word, Maggie.”

She pouted. “Uncle Clint says that I’m no pussy. He says I’m a _badass,_ daddy. It’s cool.”

“You taught her _badass_?!” Steve hissed at the archer, displeased.

Clint grinned, looking much happier. “She’s seven, Cap, she’s probably heard worse stuff at school.”

“Okay,” Natasha interrupted, clearing her throat. “If he hasn’t got the… _proper equipment_ … then how is it possible that he’s pregnant?”

Bruce hesitated, then admitted, “It’s… I’m not _exactly_ sure. I’m _not_ a medical doctor, after all. However, his newly developed uterus doesn’t actually appear to be, well, _attached_ to anything. Not properly, anyway. Like I said, everything is internalized. However, I think it’s because of Logan, he’s sort of…” He cast about for the right word, trying to make it as delicate as possible. “Well, _all_ of Logan appears to be remarkably affected by his mutation.”

“That’s _impossible_.” Tony sat up straighter. “I’m no medical doctor either, but I’m not stupid, either. That’s not _possible_.”

“Well, there is no proper ‘connection’ through his body,” Bruce argued. “Which, if you ask me, is a _good_ thing, because if nothing else, that seems highly unsanitary, considering the lack of the typical female equipment! All I can conclusively prove is that Clint has a fully functioning set of female _internal_ sexual organs that do not have a normal outlet to any other part of his body, that he is pregnant, and that based on what I’ve been able to figure out from lab tests, that Logan’s sperm appears to have the same mutation as _himself_ , at least to some degree, and that therefore this probably only _could_ have happened with this particular combination of men!”

“Remind me to never go anywhere with you again,” Clint grumbled at Logan.

Natasha twisted to look up at Logan. “Remind _all_ of us to never go anywhere with you again, just in case. Did you _know_ you could _do_ that?”

“If I _did_ , I don’t remember.” Logan shrugged, arms still crossed over his chest.

“Wait, I heard something important in all of that,” Steve held up a hand. “Internal organs with no external outlet. How will he _have_ his child?”

“Well, it’ll have to be delivered surgically,” Bruce admitted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I strongly recommend getting an _actual_ surgeon for that procedure. I do _not_ have the skill set necessary for that.”

“C’mon, doc,” Johnny laughed. “You take good care of us.”

“At no point did I _ask_ to become your medic,” he pointed out, brows furrowed. “Nor did I ever suggest that I had the skills necessary to do so! I am _not_ a medical doctor. I am a specialist focusing on _gamma radiation_.”

“And what it does to the human body,” Tony added.

“Well, yes, but…”

“And we appreciate your service as our team medic.” Tony interrupted. “We think you’ll do an admirable job, Bruce. So Clint, you’re preggers with Logan’s spawn. I gotta say, it sounds downright Jerry Springer, except for the part where you know who the father is.”

“Yeah, let’s not talk about it,” Clint muttered.

“Congratulations?” Pepper offered, slightly awkwardly.

“S’not exactly the sort of thing I want to be _congratulated_ for, Pep, but thanks,” he sighed, heavily, letting his head thump back on the back of his chair, which he was now slumped so far down into that he was barely even _in_ the seat anymore. “I said it, again and again, didn’t I, that pregnancy is like a fucking viral infection around this place. It’s in the water, or something. Pregnant person sneezes on you and _boom_ , knocked up. I _said_ that I should wear a hazmat suit when I hung around you assholes, but no one said that it was _actually_ a goddamn _possibility_!”

“Welcome to the Avengers,” Tony smirked. “Where there’s no privacy, nothing is normal, and you’re probably going to end up pregnant.”

“You ever think that maybe we should warn people of that _before_ they join?” Jan pointed out, kicking her feet, idly. “I mean, let’s be honest here, Bruce, would Hulk have joined the Avengers if he knew he might get pregnant?”

Bruce blinked at her, compulsively shoving up his glasses. “I’m not sure he’d, ah, _understand_ the concept.”

“Hm.” She considered that. “Good point.”

“How far along are you, Barton, in your pregnancy?” Loki asked, looking Clint up and down, as though trying to figure out if he could just _see_ the child. Clint was wearing a shirt, for once, a sweatshirt as though trying to find something very large that he could hide in. “You appear to not be showing.”

“Oh no,” he said, mockingly, throwing his hands up to the ceiling. “I got, like, seven whole more months left to go. It’s _fantastic_ really, it is.”

Natasha shrugged. “Well, at least you didn’t have the chance to experience your first period.”

This time, it was Tony’s turn to choke on his coffee.

 

+++

 

Steve awkwardly asking him “you really want this baby?” was not exactly how Clint had hoped to start his morning.

Frankly, he’d mostly been hoping that he’d get to start his morning with some coffee, but that, apparently, wasn’t allowed anymore, and instead he had to settle for drinking orange juice in the morning. Like some kind of savage.

Okay, he was pretty sure that there were no savages that drank orange juice in the morning, since the only “savages” he could think of that actually existed in real life had died off some millions of years ago when there stopped being cave men, and otherwise, the very idea that there were ‘savages’ out there was just a stereotype perpetuated by creepy racists, but either way. Orange juice in the morning. He didn’t like it. He missed his regular pot of coffee.

Glass of juice in hand, he slowly turned to face the Captain, and said, “What?”

“You really want this baby?” Steve said, again, sort of like he didn’t even really want to ask the question, biting his lip.

“Yeah, against my better judgment.” He shrugged, sipping at the juice reluctantly. It wasn’t _so_ bad, he guessed, though coffee was still always going to be better. “I want the kid. I’m completely and totally freaked out by it, but… yeah. I want the kid.”

“And… Logan is the father?”

“Yeah, Cap, Logan is the father,” Clint groaned, and closed his eyes. “This isn’t going to be a repeat of the whole thing with Johnny and Tony, right, where you think that they should have gotten married before they had the baby, so now that I’m the one having a bastard child, I should be getting married to Logan? Well, I don’t think it’s gonna work out. I mean, nothing else, Logan is like… pretty much immortal. I’m fairly sure that makes for a very unequal relationship, if person ages normally, and the other never dies…”

“That… wasn’t actually what I was going to say,” Steve said, smiling faintly at him. “Though I’m glad to hear I’ve inspired such incredibly happy reactions amongst my team mates…”

“That’s not what I meant, Cap.” He groaned, softly. “It’s just… come on. You basically tried to suggest that they were doing it wrong cause they weren’t married.”

“Things have changed a lot from when I grew up,” he shifted slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was still getting used to all of this, back them. Frankly, I’m still getting used to a lot of it, and it’s really hard. But I _have_ managed to figure out that getting married before having children is not _necessarily_ the norm anymore. In fact, it’s not even common anymore. I get that now. I mean, the relationship I have with Loki… well. That’s not exactly your average white picket fence American dream either, is it?”

“Um. No. but mostly only because you’re a man that’s married to a previously thought mythical Norse god and you have two children. That’s not… your average white picket fence sort of deal.” Clint shrugged, and drained the last of his orange juice.

“Yeah, but it’s pretty nifty,” Steve said, with a faint blush and a crooked smile.

“…I can’t believe you just said being married was nifty.” Clint snorted, laughing as he leaned back against the cupboards. “Oh man, our lives are so _weird_.”

“Well, I… I won’t actually disagree with you on that.”

Laughing softly, he turned, and dug in the fridge to get the orange juice again, pouring himself another glass. All right, this OJ thing wasn’t so bad after all. “Frankly, everything about our lives is bizarre. I sort of figure, getting unexpectedly pregnant and having a kid, well… that’s just one of those weird things to add to the list of weird things in our lives. I’m okay with it, long run. Or… hopefully I will be, anyway.”

Steve smiled softly at him. “Being a father is a wonderful thing, Clint.”

“Yeah, so you and Loki, and Tony, and Johnny, and Coulson say.” He hesitated. “There may be thousands or perhaps even millions of other men that might say the same. But I don’t know those men, so I have to go with just the men I know, which is… well, the five of you.”

“It’s not a bad thing to ask your friends for advice, you know.” Steve pointed out, leaning on the counter. “Look, Clint… this is your first child, so I know that a lot of things can be really stressful, right about now. So I wanted to make sure that… well, firstly that you weren’t just doing this you were feeling pressured to do so, but also, that if you needed absolutely anything, you can come to me. I’ll do my best to get you anything you need, Clint.”

“Honestly, I think the thing I’m going to need more than anything is all your hand me downs,” he snickered, running his hand through his hair. “And bigger pants.”

The Captain laughed.

“You think I’m kidding,” Clint smirked.

 

+++

 

Twenty weeks. According to Bruce, this was a good thing, twenty weeks was exactly halfway through a standard pregnancy, he was halfway done, you should be feeling much better now, Clint! How are you feeling?

Clint was feeling fat – he’d only gained like ten pounds, but they all seemed very centered on his gut and it made him feel like some kind of freak – and he had a short temper right now and he wasn’t even allowed to take out his stress by going out into the wilds and shooting down villains. Sure, he could go down to the shooting range and work for a few hours – and he usually did – but he couldn’t actually use it on real villains, because Bruce wouldn’t let him.

Every little tiny thing was getting to him, and he hadn’t even seen Logan in three days. Where the _hell_ had he gone?

A trio of screaming toddlers raced past him, banging off his legs like he was the peg in a pinball machine, and Clint threw up his hands to steady himself, startled. Mary, Tony Junior, and Cherry – just months apart in age, and an absolute trio of terror, together – howling and laughing as they raced through the halls, clearly headed somewhere in particular, but who knew where?

Frankly, Clint wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know where they were going.

Actually, no, he took that back. He wanted to know where exactly they were going, because he wanted to go in the exact opposite direction to find himself a _quiet_ place to settle down and rest. His back was already killing him, his head was pounding, and the _heart burn_ … god. He’d rather go back to the throwing up every day than this, if given the choice.

He headed for the living room, and slumped to sit on the couch. The room was quiet, which was a relief, and he slumped back to close his eyes, just breathing for a moment.

Then yelped when the entire fucking building shook.

“What the _hell_?!” He yelped, jumping when the building around him shook again, and he struggled to stand back up. It wasn’t usually so bad, getting to his feet – it wasn’t like he was actually heavy enough yet that it caused actual problems, but with the ground shaking under him, it was hard to get up, hard to get his footing – and Clint finally got up, grabbing at the couch to keep himself steady. “What is going _on_?!” He howled.

Lightning crackled outside the windows, far more lightning than would ever be created by a storm, and he grit his teeth, then bellowed, “ _Thor_!”

“It is not I!”

That was not encouraging. Catching his hands on the wall, Clint staggered towards the kitchen, displeased to see the god there, hands on the edge of the table. “What is going _on_?!”

Thor hesitated, a wild look in his eyes, then admitted, “Joseph has Mjolnir.”

“Joey has – well then, call it back to you!” He yowled.

“The child cannot fly as I can! He may be harmed if I simply call Mjolnir to myself!” Thor protested.

“Oh god,” he groaned, then jumped when the whole building shook again, lightning crackling down the windows. “So get your brother to corral his son! How did he even _get_ his hands on Mjolnir to begin with?!”

“He asked to play… I’m happy to see him able to wield it…”

“He’s _four_!” Clint threw up his hands. “It may be adorable for him to run around with the hammer and all, but he’s _four_ , he is _tiny_ , and why the hell would you ever let him play with it by himself?!”

Thor hesitated, and admitted, sort of sheepishly, “It… seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“What the _hell_?” Tony suddenly leaned in the room, looking startled. “What is going _on_ in here? Are we under attack?”

“Yeah.” Clint snapped. “By a four year old with Mjolnir.”

Stark blinked at them for a moment, then arched a brow, and said, slowly, “…Joey’s on the roof with the hammer again?”

“Bingo.” He pointed at him.

“You need to start supervising that kid when he plays with that thing,” Tony muttered, then twisted, and bellowed, “ _Loki_! Your kid is on the roof with Mjolnir again!”

Clint winced, closing his eyes for a moment. The already pounding headache he’d been nursing all day really couldn’t handle Stark howling around the house, and he could feel it absolutely throbbing behind his eyes, now. Why did he live in this house still? He needed to get the hell out of here, really. He could go back to SHIELD, ask if he could get his old quarters back… oh no, that sounded like a really bad idea, too. SHIELD might possibly be quieter, but it would be going back to SHIELD, and that wasn’t going to work out well…

Loki suddenly stood in the kitchen, his toddler son in his arms, not even a hair out of place. Magic was odd.

“So he is.” The god said, lightly, looking at the little boy in his arms. “Joseph, have we not talked to you about this? It is not considered polite to call lightning down on the Avengers Mansion.”

Joey pouted, clutching the hammer tightly to his chest in a odd hug. “But uncle Thor said I could play, and…”

“I am aware. And I will be having words with your uncle Thor about that.” Loki said, arching a single brow as he looked up at Thor.

Thor _did_ manage to look shamefaced, at least.

“You’re all insane.” Clint muttered, digging in the fridge for the carton of orange juice, and took it with him as he left the kitchen, clenching the cardboard carton tightly in his hands. His head was throbbing, and he didn’t want to hear the argument that was sure to ensue between the two godly brothers, where Thor would try to defend giving a legendary weapon that only a very select few could even lift to a four year old, and Loki would retort that the four year old was his _son_ and therefore the trickster’s son probably shouldn’t be playing with Mjolnir, and knowing Tony, he’d get into that fight too, arguing that Loki should stop showing magic to his own son Tony Jr. and between the three of those men, Clint knew that there was a migraine waiting to happen.

So he headed down the hall, holding his carton of orange juice, and cracked the cap off of it. He took a swig of the juice – then got tackled in the side, carton going flying, juice everywhere.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he groaned, trying to shake orange juice off his hand. “What the _hell_ …?”

“Sorry, uncle Clint,” Maggie said, breathlessly, eyes bright as she beamed up at him. She was wearing a partial version of the Iron Baby suit – which obviously had grown up a little with her, as she’d gotten older, and she wasn’t really Iron _Baby_ anymore – with mostly just the back of the helmet, and the underling servos that ran down her arms and legs. “I’ve been trying to get the programming right with JARVIS, but I think I’ve overclocked the rockets…”

“Right, that… makes no sense. Aren’t you supposed to be doing this in the _lab_?” He grumbled, shaking juice out of his hair. “And not running around through the hallways?”

“Yeah, but… I mean, I really need a track or somethin’, and I don’t have a track, so… there are… a lot of hallways here.” Maggie pointed out, licking her lips, still looking bright and eager as she looked up at him. She hadn’t _meant_ to run into him, hadn’t _meant_ to knock his juice everywhere and make a huge mess of Clint, she genuinely had just thought that running through the halls would be an okay way to test her fine-tune adjusting of the rockets in her Iron Baby suit, and what the _hell_ , Clint was pretty damn sure that when he was seven, he would not have been smart enough to program a robotic suit. Then again, he wasn’t being raised in a house with a whole series of superheroes as ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’ with a super genius as a babysitter and a god for a father, but… all the same. “You’re okay, right?”

“Yeah.” Clint muttered. Didn’t change anything if he _wasn’t_ , so what was he supposed to say? Scare the poor kid? She _was_ his adopted niece, after all, even if she was a brat sometimes. “I’m okay. But how about you keep this to the _lab_ for now, okay? Ask your uncle Tony if you can use the track downstairs.”

Her eyes lit up, and the kid stood up on her tip toes, kissing his cheek. “Thanks, uncle Clint!”

“You’re welcome, kiddo.” He said, as Maggie darted off down the hall, faster than a child should be running because of that proto-suit. He watched her go, then sighed, and shook his head, looking down at the puddle of orange juice spilled all over the hardwood. “…fuck my life.”

Clint ended up heading back to the living room, in the end, and slumping bonelessly on the end of the couch. Again. He was, apparently, in a rut. Slumped back in the cushions, he stared up at the ceiling, which was apparently made of carefully designed tin plates with fancy patterns. He hadn’t actually looked up at the ceiling before, he didn’t think, so he hadn’t noticed. He considered the patterns for a moment, but they didn’t seem to be giving him any information, so he just closed his eyes, and sort of melted into the couch. He just wanted his headache to go away.

The terror trio ran past the living room again, screaming, and he flinched.

The other end of the couch sank suddenly, a heavy dip, and Clint slowly lifted his head. That was either Logan, Iron Man in full suit, or the Hulk.

Logan. Well.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” he muttered, closing his eyes again. “Where do you even go, when you’re not _here_?”

The other was silent for a long moment, then said, “How about I show you?”

Clint lifted his head again, considering the other man for a long moment. Logan had no sign of lies in his face. He looked like he was actually telling the truth – and his hand was held out towards him, in a simple, silent invitation.

“Fine.” He said, as though defying Logan to change his mind, and grabbed his hand.

It took a walk of about two blocks, then a subway ride for about twenty minutes, then another block, then Logan opened the door to a small apartment building, a three story walkup. They walked up to the top story, then Logan, in the most oddly domestic thing that Clint was sure he had seen in a long time, pulled a key ring out of his pocket, unlocked the door to apartment twelve, and let Clint inside.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, exactly.

But just a normal apartment was probably not it, he realized.

Oh, it wasn’t much to look at, not really. The apartment wasn’t anything much to look at, itself, but it had a leather couch in the room they walked right into, and a fairly large tv set on the wall. There was a small kitchen just beyond, and a couple doors off to the side, presumably to the bathroom and bedroom. It wasn’t fancy, but it was _quiet_ , and Clint let Logan guide him to the couch, and he sank to sit down on it.

“You want something to drink?”

“Uh…” Clint hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, that’d be good. Thanks.”

Logan dropped his hand, then, and Clint settled back on into the corner of the couch as he watched the other man head into that little kitchen, watching him through the window that opened into the room, as though it was a restaurant instead of someone’s home. Funny, he thought, that he hadn’t even really thought about the fact that Logan had been holding his hand all the way from the Avenger’s mansion to here, but he had. Go figure.

“Root beer.” The wild man said, lightly, offering a brown glass bottle that looked suspiciously like beer, but he could see the little label on the side that teased _100% not alcoholic_! and Clint took it, gratefully. Logan nodded, then slumped to sit beside him, an actual bottle of beer in his hand, cracking the cap off.

Sipping at the soda, relieved, Clint relaxed. “…thanks.”

Logan shrugged.

“Didn’t know you had your own place,” he said, lightly, looking around the living room. No pictures on the walls, except for a large painting of a forested scene that looked extremely generic, like maybe the kind of thing that had come with the apartment, not something that had been chosen deliberately.”But I guess that makes sense… you’ll outlive all of us Avengers, might as well have a place to – “

The other’s hand was abruptly across his mouth, and Clint blinked up at Logan, startled. “Don’t.” He said, seriously, brows furrowed. When he was sure he had Clint’s attention, he dropped his hand, and settled back on the couch. “Just don’t. Not now.”

Clint took a deep breath, then nodded, quietly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, either,” Logan rolled his eyes. “I didn’t invite you here for a pity party.”

“So what _did_ you invite me here for?”

“I _need_ a reason?” He arched a brow, taking another swig of his beer.

“Maybe not,” Clint considered that for a moment, sipping at his root beer for a long moment, then suddenly set the bottle on the coffee table. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face Logan properly, and reached up to cup the other man’s jaw, brushing his thumb along his cheekbone. “So. Gonna show me the bedroom, then?”

 

+++

 

Disoriented, Clint blinked at the darkness, trying to figure out what in the world had woken him up. And where he _was_ , while he was at it, because this was not his bedroom in the Avenger’s mansion.

Scrubbing at his face, trying to figure out what was going on, he shifted to sit up, then froze when his movement seemed to trigger a low, deep growl from right beside him in the bed. Startled, he hesitated, then slowly let out a breath, pretty sure he knew what was going on. “…Logan?”

There was movement beside him again, like an animal trying to bolt away from him.

“Woah, woah…” he fumbled with the bedside table, pretty sure he remembered seeing a lamp there – because they were in Logan’s apartment, right? – and nearly knocking about fifteen things off of the little table before he finally managed to find the light switch, and flick the lamp on. Light flared in the darkness of the little bedroom, and though he winced slightly, his eyes were on the man in the bed beside him.

Logan looked _wild_.

Truly, genuinely, wild. Like he really was the animal he claimed to be, eyes bright and almost not human, the muscles corded under his hairy, tanned skin, knives out of his fists. Dangerous.

“Woah…” Clint said, slowly, swallowing. “Are you okay?”

Logan just snarled, teeth bared.

“Right.” Taking a deep breath, he licked his lips, then slowly shifted closer to him. Logan growled louder, but didn’t move when Clint got carefully closer. “Didja have a bad dream, or something? I know I get them, sometimes. I don’t… usually turn into a wild animal with claws and all, but… I know that sometimes I probably would if I could. Do you need anything?”

Reaching out, he curled his hand gently against the side of Logan’s neck.

Logan barked at him, angrily, jerking his head back.

Clint knew better than to be insulted by the instinct, he knew that Logan was just panicking. He’d panicked before, knew it was hard to deal with. So he just shifted a little closer to him, despite the flinching back, and instead curled his fingers around the other man’s fists. Logan started again, teeth bared, but didn’t slice at him. That at least was a small victory.

“It’s okay,” Clint murmured, gently, squeezing the other’s knuckles. “It’s okay, Logan. Whatever happened, it’s okay.”

Though still breathing hard, Logan’s corded muscles slowly slackened, and after a long moment, the claws very slowly slid back into the mutant’s hands. Once they were gone, completely, Clint sighed in relief, slumping to lay beside the other man again. “There… that’s not so bad, is it?”

“That… was stupid.” Logan breathed.

“Yeah, probably. But I’m good at that,” he shrugged, and squirmed forward again, rolling onto his other side so that the other man was forming the outer spoon for him again. He figured he might as well take advantage of the fact that the other man was broader and technically larger than him, and use him as a warm blanket. No point in dwelling on it, it was much better to just enjoy it. “Bad dream?”

“Yeah,” Logan muttered.

Manhandling the other’s arms so that they curled around him, again, Clint stroked the back of the other’s arms again, running the hair up, then back down. Petting him, he guessed. “So. Gonna tell me what the bad dream was about?”

He just snorted.

“Oi. None of that, now. I know it’s better to get it out than in. So tell me. What was the bad dream about?”

Logan sighed, heavily, and tightened his arms, curling Clint just a little closer against his chest. Holding him, he kissed the top of Clint’s head, and murmured, into his hair, “World War two. Crashed a plane, had to parachute out, into Nazi Germany.”

Clint shuddered slightly, stroking the backs of Logan’s arms, sort of idly. “That sounds awful.”

He hummed softly into Clint’s hair, again. “Mm.”

“Well… it’s okay, now, right? It happened, I’m sure, but it’s over now, and there’s no point in stressing over it now. Though you never did answer whether or not you had a dress uniform like the Cap does. I mean, I have to assume you’ve got one, but… any chance you might be able to find it? I wanna see that.”

“Got a thing for a man in uniform?” he breathed, against his head.

“Yeah, maybe I do. So try and find it, huh? I assume it has to have existed, and if it did, I want to see it.” Clint grinned, then abruptly reached out to flick off the lamp, plunging the bedroom back down into darkness. “Dunno about you, but I’m still exhausted.”

Logan hummed, noncommittally.

“So I’m gonna go back to sleep, okay?” Clint said.

The other just nodded, arms still tight around him, holding Clint close.

“Well… if you don’t want to sleep, at least let me get some rest,” he smirked, shifting just enough to kiss Logan’s upper arm, lightly. “Since it’s _your_ baby that’s making me so exhausted all the time.”

Logan snorted again.

 

+++

 

“Wow, okay, I am so fucking glad I didn’t actually carry my babies.” Johnny said, as he leaned in the kitchen, arching his brows. “You are… _fat_.”

“Wow, you have a complete lack of tact.” Clint said, without hesitation, wishing he had thought of wearing a shirt today, but no, of course, he’d stumbled out of bed feeling like crap, mostly unable to sleep because the baby seemed to think it was the most hilarious idea in the world to learn how to perform circus acts inside his belly. He had pop tarts in the toaster, though, and he was _not_ going to leave the kitchen, shirt or no, without his pop tarts.

“Yeah, it’s a blessing.” Johnny hopped up onto t he counter, looking him up and down. “But really. You’ve gotten really _round_. You got much longer left?”

“Couple months,” he confirmed, shrugging a little.

“Hm. Getting excited?” He grinned, wriggling a little where he sat on the counter.

“I don’t know if _excited_ is the right word for it,” Clint snorted, and grabbed his pop tarts when they popped up from the toaster, taking a healthy bite of the first one. “Mmm. Yeah, no… excited isn’t the right word at all. Terrified, alarmed, panicked… some of those are the right words. But I _am_ looking forward to trying to get my own body back.”

“Your own body?” Johnny snorted. “Okay, it’s not _that_ bad.”

“Yeah, _you_ get pregnant, and then you tell me if that’s the case.” He shot back, taking another bite of his pop tart. “Cause it is. Trust me.”

“Sure,” he agreed, idly tossing a ball of flames between his hands, lightly. “So, do you know if it’s a girl or a boy, yet?”

“I know,” Clint said, tugging a chair out from the kitchen table, sinking to sit in it. “And I’m not telling.”

“What?” Johnny protested. “But what if we wanted to get you baby shower presents, or pass down hand me downs, or something? I mean, I have hand me downs from both genders of babies, how do I know whether I’m supposed to give you pink things, or blue things?!”

“Or _maybe_ we should stop caring about what gender the baby is and get them unisex shit?” Clint suggested, breaking a piece of icing off, and leaning his head back to drop it in his mouth.

“…are you making this pregnancy into a statement about gender roles and gender rights?” He asked, warily.

“No.” He let out a huff of breath, rolling his eyes. “I just don’t see how it’s anyone’s fucking business whether I am having a girl or a boy. I will have a child that will probably have a gender. And then you’ll all know. Until then… I will have my own little quiet panic attacks about the fact that I’m a pregnant dude off by myself, thanks.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Johnny held up his hands, laughing softly. “You just have to remember, Clint… this may be your first baby, but it’s not the first baby around the place, and… well. We like you joining the ranks of us dads.”

“Heh…” He considered that for a moment, popping the last of his pop tart in his mouth. “Funny… there are five children tumbling about the place, and only one mom.”

“Well, we _are_ Avengers.” He shrugged. “We’re unusual.”

Clint snorted. “Well, we _are_ that.”

There was a clatter outside the kitchen door, and Darcy Coulson – the only mother of all the children, as it happened – darted into the room, slightly breathless. The terrible trio was right behind her, but they didn’t appear to be coming _with_ her, it just sort of seemed that they had spotted Darcy darting through the halls, clearly in a hurry, and had followed her into the room. She was dressed in her SHIELD uniform, all practically skin tight and curve hugging and sort of gorgeous, and she beamed when she spotted the pair of them. “Hey, just who I was looking for.”

“Looking for me?” Johnny grinned, pressing his hand to his chest, wiggling his brows at her.

“Sorry, Storm, I’m here for Agent Barton, actually.”

“Agent Barton.” Clint huffed a little, amused by that. “I don’t get called that much, not anymore.”

“Yeah, so I hear. Hear you’ve been benched, too. Bad luck.” Darcy shook her head. “No one tried to bench me, when I got pregnant, but at least you’re not likely to deliver in the midst of a hostage situation.”

He snorted, and pushed himself up to his feet, steadying himself for a moment on the table. He got light headed a lot, when he stood up too quickly. He wasn’t sure if that was normal, but Bruce told him that it wasn’t really all that odd, it could happen. He just had to be careful – and Bruce would often give a smug sort of smile, as if to say that Clint’s occasional dizziness was further proof that he had been right in ordering Clint to stop fighting until the baby was born. “Yeah, that’s true… mostly because I _can’t_ deliver. It’s going to have to be surgical, however it happens.”

“Lovely. At least I didn’t have to go that route.” She laughed, softly, and took a deep breath. “Well. Shall we go to the helicopter?”

“Helicopter?” Clint blinked. “Oh, so you’re not just showing up to congratulate me about the baby. You’re here for full on SHIELD business.”

“Yeah… sorry. It’s about your brother.” Darcy smiled faintly, apologetically.

“…fuck. Just what I need.” He groaned, softly, running his hand through his hair. “All right, well… to the helicopter, then.”

 

+++

 

Clint paused as he stepped into the meeting room, twisting to look back at Darcy, brows furrowed. “What is _Deadpool_ doing here?”

“They brought him in, I guess.” She shrugged, and squeezed Clint’s shoulder as the red and black suited mercenary spotted them, and bounded to his feet, all but hopping towards them. “Sorry, Clint, but I have to go get back to work. Think you’ll be able to stand being here for now with him by yourself, for a few minutes?”

He sighed, heavily, and shook his head as Deadpool bounded up to them. “Yeah, I guess. Thanks, Darcy.”

“Good luck,” she winked, and slipped out of the room.

“Hawkeye! Eye of the Hawk!” Deadpool chirped as he approached, beaming eagerly. “Man, it has been a lifetime since I last saw you. You have either gotten _really_ fat, or you are pregnant. Wait, don’t tell me. Don’t tell me.” He held out his gloved hands to him for a moment. “You’ve gotten _really_ fat.”

“Thanks, Wade, I really needed that.” Clint sighed.

“I know.” Even with the mask on, it was clear that he was grinning. “And you are _welcome_.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” He grumbled, heading forward to sit at the conference table, just wanting to get off his feet for a few minutes. His ankles were swollen, and anyone who said that this wasn’t that big of a deal was an asshole that didn’t understand pregnancy, because swollen ankles were _miserable_.

“No idea.” Deadpool said, cheerfully. “They didn’t say. Just tasered me and brought me here.”

Clint blinked up at the mercenary, who flopped down in the seat beside his. “Tasers don’t do anything to you, Wade.”

“Oh, I know. But I sort of thought that it would be impolite of me not to embrace it. I mean, they went to all the trouble of tasering me, so they _expected_ me to wail and fall down and flail and shit my pants like taser victims are supposed to do.”

“…you didn’t.” He said, crinkling his nose as he considered the other man.

“Oh come on, you’re going to have to deal with shit in pants for months soon enough,” Deadpool cackled, stretching, and leaning his chair back on just two legs. “So why are _you_ here?”

“I don’t know.” Clint shook his head. “They said it was about my brother.”

The other man suddenly groaned, and leaned further back in his chair, low enough that it probably would fall back if given the slightest push. “God, if it’s about Barney Barton then it’s _probably_ about one of his secret missions or something, which means that it’s _probably_ about one of the mercenary groups that wants to kill me. Which, by the way, I want them dead too, but _still_. God. That’s exactly what I needed for my weekend, sitting around talking about – “

The door slid open again, and Fury stepped in. He looked furious, brows furrowed, as he marched over to the table. “Look, we’re going to have to keep this short. Barton, what do you know about your brother’s work with Egghead?”

“Nothing.” Clint said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is that everything? Can I go?”

“Barton…”

“Look, Director… whatever I know about what my brother was doing when he was undercover, you already know. You’ve got it all on file. I don’t know anything else. Why are you asking me this?” Clint waved at Deadpool. “And what is _he_ doing here?”

Fury sighed, heavily, leaning back in his seat. “He is here because he’s the one that reported to us that Egghead is moving again, and there have been some mentions of your brother.”

Clint pursed his lips, then glanced at Deadpool again. “So you didn’t tase him, then.”

“No.” Fury said, then hummed slightly. “Though I’m not against doing so, if necessary.”

“Of course not.”

“Oi.” Deadpool grumbled, feet crossed up on the edge of the table. “I dislike this conversation. Where’d Agent Phil go, anyway? I liked him a lot more than you. Less… eye patchy.”

Fury closed his eye for a moment, then said, finally, “Wilson. I will talk to you in a moment. I need to talk to Barton.”

“So? Talk.” He shrugged, casually.

“Without you _here_ , Wilson.”

“Ugh, really?” The mercenary groaned, and swung his legs off of the table, standing up. “He’s getting special treatment just cause he’s pregnant. It’s not fair, you know. _Clint_ gets himself in an unusual pairing, and _Clint_ gets himself pregnant, doesn’t even know how lucky he is to have the fifth story… my story isn’t even on the list until the _thirteenth_ story in the series, and even then, I’m probably not even going to get to be in one of those weird unheard of pairings because I’m ‘hard to write in character in relationships’…”

His voice trailed off as he walked away.

“…what the hell was _that_ about?” Clint demanded, frowning.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Barton.” Fury shook his head. “Look… we’re just concerned, considering the circumstances, that Egghead and his group may once again be trying to take revenge on you. Whether your brother is involved or not. I wanted to make sure everything was… all right.”

“You mean, because I’m pregnant, you want to make sure that Egghead can’t use my unborn baby against me or the Avengers or SHIELD.” He arched a brow, crossing his arms over his chest – daring Fury to defy him.

The director took a deep breath, then finally said, almost reluctantly, “Yes, there’s an element of that.”

“That’s what I figured.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard a lot of comments like that lately, Bruce won’t let me fight, which I know you know, and SHIELD is being serious about all of this, with the whole mutation thing, and… yeah. I know. I get it. Everyone’s worried, and now you’re all thinking that if there’s an old enemy reemerging, that it _can’t_ just be a coincidence that they’re suddenly showing up at the same time that I’m pregnant in about the weirdest circumstances ever… I get it. I did this for years, the whole… espionage and spying thing. I know. I know how this works, and I know what you’re trying to do. But I mean, I got the whole of the Avengers around ninety percent of the time, and Logan when I don’t have them, and I dunno about you, but I think if I were Egghead, I’d be _really_ freaked out by the idea of having to fight the Wolverine when he’s trying to protect his unborn child. Dude’s terrifying enough when he’s in a normal situation.”

Fury let out a long sigh, and shook his head as he laughed softly. “That’s true.”

“See? I’m smart,” he snickered, and slid himself out of his seat, standing. “Is that everything, sir?”

“That’s everything,” he nodded. “Be careful, Barton?”

“Of course.” Clint saluted. “Now, find that asshole, and take him out, and… use Wilson if you have to, but… stop pulling pregnant Avengers in to have chats with. I know you’re trying to be a good boss and all, but you just sort of sound weirdly soft. S’creepy.”

“Noted.” Fury smirked. “Now… I do have one more thing to discuss with you. Specifically, the kid you and Wolverine found in the woods in Canada.”

His spine stiffened, now, hand still resting on the back of the chair he had been sitting in just moments before. “…what about her, Fury?”

The director sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, and tapping his fingers on his upper arms. “Barton, let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be. I’ve read through all of Banner and Richard’s documents. I’ve seen what little McCoy is willing to give us, as typical, the X-Men refuse to give us all the information that we actually need, but… what he has given us, I’ve read through. She may be a good girl, Barton, and she may not actually _want_ to hurt people, but that mutation… that can’t be out in public. Look what she did to you.”

Clint tightened his grip on the back of the chair. “So get her some kind of dampener. I know they _exist_ , you used to use them for the Hulk.”

“Yes, well… you want her locked up in the Cube forever? Because that’s likely the only way to ensure that her mutation doesn’t end up acting out and getting half of the men in New York pregnant.”

“You _know_ that Stark or Pym could come up with some kind of device to keep her powers contained.” He said, sharply, squeezing the back of the chair so tightly that his knuckles went white. “In fact, how about I ask him for advice on exactly that when I go back to the mansion? We can’t lock that kid up, Fury, she’s just a _kid_. And you can’t make her into a weapon.”

Fury shifted in his seat, uncomfortably, brows furrowed. “I’m not going to lie and say that the idea didn’t come up in meetings, but we’ve decided against it. Firstly, her power is nothing if not unpredictable, so I imagine at any moment, her power could turn against us. Besides that, as convenient as it might be to render our enemies helpless with passion, I’m fairly sure that it would end up violating every law in terms of chemical and biological warfare. Besides… not even on HYDRA would I want to curse men abruptly getting pregnant.”

“Ha ha.” Clint said, sarcastically.

The eye-patched man smirked once, amused. “I’m sure you’ll do wonderful as a father, Barton.”

“Yes, sir,” he shot back, sneering, and marched out of the room.

 

+++

 

“I need you to do me a favour.”

Tony reluctantly looked up from the Iron Man glove that he was working on, frowning slightly as he pushed the mirrored welding goggles that he wore up onto his forehead. “What kind of favour?”

“I need you to find a way to suppress Kele’s mutation, and if possible, find a way that she can… do something. Use her power for good, or something.”

“Kele. The kid with the mutation that made you pregnant and wild? You want to find a way to suppress her power and use it for good.” Tony repeated, blinking up at the archer, then took a deep breath, and leaned back. Considering that, seriously, he said, after a moment. “Well, that’s possible, I did design that room to suppress Loki’s powers a few years ago, it worked for mutations, too, presuming I could test it properly, I could theoretically build an apartment that she could live in and she wouldn’t spread her mutation outside of the apartment…”

“Awesome. That sounds great.” Clint tugged a stool over, and sat down, with a thump. “Good. But could you… miniaturize that? Somehow? So that she could leave her apartment?”

Tony narrowed his eyes, seriously considering that, then spun on his wheelie chair, barking orders to JARVIS. A few minutes later, there was a copy of the blueprint of his suppressor technology hanging in the air, and he was already gesturing at it, leaving glowing white trails of ‘writing’ across the original drawings as he tried to devise a way to miniaturize the tech. “Yeah, I think I could… maybe into a device that she could carry, like diabetics sometimes do, for blood monitoring… ugh, but that would hardly be stylish. She’s a seventeen year old girl, what seventeen year old wants to wear a thing like that? I could maybe… adapt some of the tech I used for the calling bracelets for the Iron Man suit… a pair of bracelets might work.”

“That sounds great.” He laughed, breathlessly, leaning back.

“What brought this on?” Tony asked, already at work, scribbling across his own drawings, already mostly distracted by his work.

“SHIELD wants to contain her. I don’t think the poor kid deserves to be trapped in a cell for the rest of her life just because she has a mutation she can’t control.” Clint said, with a faint smile. “She doesn’t deserve that at all. Poor kid, she… I know what it’s like, to not understand, okay? To be out of control and willing to do anything to deal with it. She just needs direction. Something to direct her attention to. You know… so she doesn’t get bitter and jaded and turn into a serial villain called like, the Rapist, or something.”

“That sounds great, Clint.” He said, already having absolutely no idea what Clint was talking about because his attention was entirely on his design.

Clint smiled faintly, and squeezed Tony’s shoulder. “Thanks, Stark.”

 

+++

 

Logan’s uniform was marred with blood, and gore, and several places were ripped badly enough that he was pretty sure it was going to have to be entirely replaced, instead of just repaired. He wasn’t limping when he stepped into his apartment or anything, because he was the Wolverine, of course he wouldn’t be, but were he not who he was, he certainly would have been. His leg had actually been snapped, at one point. Still, while the rest of the team had gone back to the Avenger’s Mansion, he headed back to his own apartment, kicking the door closed behind him, and locking the door with all six of the locks he’d had retrofitted to it – including the one that Stark had custom made for him, a fairly intense one that had a very minor form of AI in it, to keep watch over the apartment and those inside of it.

Tossing his keys down on the kitchen counter, he sighed, and stripped out of his leather and Kevlar jacket. It landed heavily on the couch, then slid off of it with a soft slick-slide, landing with a soft thump on the floor.

He left it there.

Kicking off his boots, he padded in bare feet to the bathroom, rinsing his face off in the sink, to get rid of the worst of the blood – some of it his own, and some of it other people’s – then headed for the bedroom.

Clint was sleeping.

Logan hesitated just inside the bedroom door, considering the man sleeping on his bed, one arm folded under his head as he slept on his side, the other sort of spread out across the patchwork quilt that Logan couldn’t remember buying – but knew that it made him feel of _home_. He’d been sleeping on his side a lot, lately, claiming that the weight of the baby was making his back hurt too much to sleep on his back, and damn, yeah, Clint was definitely looking _heavy_ now. Heavy with his child.

The pajamas were odd. Clint almost always slept in just his boxers, or sometimes a pair of well-worn sweatpants that looked like they’d probably been with him for decades. Instead, he was wearing a crisp pair of white and blue pajamas, old-fashioned, with cuffs and a collar and buttons and everything. Huge, too, hard to be in order to fit over that newly developed stomach of his.

Squirming out of his leather pants, he crawled slowly onto the bed beside Clint, the bed dipping deeper under him than it would for other people. He lay down slowly beside him, and reached up to brush blond hair off of the other’s forehead.

Blue green eyes opened slowly, sleepy and sort of doe-eyed, and Clint murmured, “That was a long mission.”

Logan snorted. “Lady Viper.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, reaching up to scrub at his face, with the cuff of the too-long pajama sleeve that hung over his hand, rubbing at his eyes. “I hate that woman. All those poisons…”

He nodded, still idly pushing Clint’s hair back.

Taking in a long breath, Clint shifted slightly closer to him on the bed, clearly still sleepy – and clearly still frustrated by the fact that he hadn’t been there, to help – but he also just seemed sort of relaxed. Perhaps glad that Logan had come home, though Logan didn’t really want to read too much into it, either. “Mm. Glad you got out without too bad of poisoning, though.”

“I shook it off.” Logan smirked.

“Of course you did.” He snorted, and squirmed even closer, licking his lips. “So. How’re you feeling?”

Logan shrugged. Frankly, he felt like he always did. Just fine, except for a steady and permanent ache in his bones.

“Good.” Clint grinned at him, and sat up. “So. How do you like my pajamas.”

“Hideous.” He said, calmly.

“Perfect.” The archer leaned closer, kissing Logan slowly, sort of teasingly. “Cut ‘em off me.”

Logan hesitated, surprised by the request, arching a brow.

“You heard me, wild man,” Clint beamed, a mischievous glint to his eyes, and held out his arms. “Pull out those sexy claws of yours, and cut me out of my clothes.”

He let out a long breath. “Serious?”

“As a heart attack, wild man,” he grinned, licking his lips again, squirming a little closer to him. “Come on, you _know_ you want to cut these hideous things off of me. And I _really_ want you to cut them off of me. In fact, I _really_ fucking want you to cut them off of me.”

Logan considered the other man seriously, then lifted a hand, and let his claws out with a _schnickt_.

And arched a brow in intrigue when Clint didn’t buck, or jump, or flinch – but instead licked his lips, and looked up at him with an eager sort of expression.

“You’re gonna do it, right?” Clint grinned up at him.

He lifted his jaw slightly, shifting up on the bed so that he was almost sitting, and slid the claws of his right hand up the front of Clint’s sleeve, the smooth backs of the metal sliding smoothly across the soft skin of the inside of the other’s arm. Clint bucked, now, but differently than Logan would have generally expected, eager instead of afraid.

Logan shook his head, smirking faintly – and nicked his claws forward, neatly, slicing the sleeves of the hideous pajamas into cheap cotton ribbons.

“Oh.” Clint breathed, licking his lips again, hips shifting forward slightly.

Unexpected. But very, very interesting. He smirked, and slid the backs of the claws up further, shredding the shirt right across the collarbone, and watching as the halves of the shirt just fell away to the quilt. Clint’s eyes were dark as they met his, eager and excited, and the archer grinned, quickly.

He laughed, at that, and slid his claws back into his hands, just long enough to push the younger man back to the pillows with a thump. Kissing his way across Clint’s collarbone, Logan nipped at the soft skin, pleased that it left marks that actually _lasted_ , for him, dark little marks blossoming on the pale, smooth skin. He also liked the way that it made Clint buck up into him, jaw falling open as his head fell back on the pillows. Did a man good, to see a lover react like that, bucking and moaning and writhing, desperate and hopeful and eager for more.

“Archer,” he breathed, waiting until Clint finally lifted his head, panting.

Watching his expression, Logan pressed the back of his hand just under Clint’s very-rounded belly, and watched the other’s eyes as he very slowly let his claws pierce his skin, sliding out from between his fingers. They slid out, neatly, the backs of the claws sliding smoothly across Clint’s thighs, no cutting but certainly teasing. Making sure that the other man understood exactly what was going on, he flicked his hand up, shredding the front of the pajama pants into perfectly neat strips.

Clint arched, mouth falling open as he gasped for air.

Logan grinned, predatorily, and set about shredding the last of the hideous pants.

 

+++

 

It wasn’t every day that Clint managed to give people really good news. He _liked_ giving good news, sure, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing he normally got to do. After all, he’d spent years in a circus, even more years as a spy, and now a few more years as a sort of bizarre superhero, because holy crap, it still shocked him some days that he lived in a world in which superheroes not only existed, but he _was_ one. But even as a superhero, powers or no, he usually got to hunt down bad guys, not give good news to people.

So this was good news.

And Clint was absolutely delighted that he got to deliver it, even if it was technically Tony’s news to deliver.

It felt like it took forever for the damn door to the isolation room where Kele was being kept to slide open, but when it finally did, he leaned in the door, and grinned as he called, “Knock knock, stranger. Feeling up to having a visitor?”

The teenager looked up from the notebook that she was writing in, startled, and her eyes absolutely lit up. “ _Clint_!”

“Yeah, speak of the devil.” He grinned, and stepped into the room. He was wearing one of those over-sized sweatshirts that had become his maternity wear, now, knowing that he was getting ridiculously heavy now. It was kind of hard to hide, but he knew that Hank McCoy had sat down with her and explained what exactly had happened – that was the whole reason that she was _here_ now, sitting in this damn white isolation room that made him think eerily of those old padded rooms, instead of out there with the rest of the teenagers upstairs in the school. “How you doing, kiddo?”

“I’m okay,” she smiled up at him, squirming forward to curl her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “It feels like it’s been… forever.”

“Well, it’s been like… thirty six weeks.” Clint smirked faintly, ruffling her pin straight black hair. “Pretty much exactly, actually. According to Banner, anyway.”

“Because you’re pregnant,” she murmured, paling slightly, and shifting back so that she could press her palms to his belly, through the sweater. “Clint, I am _so_ sorry, I didn’t know… I didn’t know that this was actually even _possible_. I mean, I knew that I made people go wild, but I had no idea that it could do _this_!”

“I know.” He shrugged, and shook his head. “If I thought you had done this on purpose, I think this meeting would be going very differently right now. I would probably be punching you, actually. But I know you didn’t mean to do it.”

“You wouldn’t punch me,” Kele laughed, softly, ducking her head.

“Oi, don’t think that just because you’re a girl means you’re immune from being punched,” he tapped the tip of her nose, with a smirk. “But look. I have some good news for you, okay? We’re going to get you out of this room.”

She lifted her head, startled. “…really?”

“Yeah. With a little help from an asshole friend of mine.” He smirked, and turned slightly, calling, “Tony?”

“An asshole friend of yours?” Tony Stark said, sarcastically, as he stepped into the room with an exaggerated swagger, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his dress pants, a single brow arched over his sunglasses. Reaching up, he tugged them off, hooking the arm of his sunglasses on the collar of his shirt. “Well, hello, Kele, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard an awful lot about you. Mostly it’s been good things. Occasionally not so much.”

“Probably cause you heard that I freak out and turn everyone around me into raging sexaholics?” She asked, flushed, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Yeah, something like that. Speaking of, if you can find a way to prevent the whole… unexpectedly turning dudes into just enough girls to have babies, then I would _totally_ be interested in you giving a shot with that power of yours on Johnny and me. Think it’d be fun to spice things up in the bedroom. But _anyway_. We’ve made you a thing.”

“A thing?” Kele repeated.

Clint snorted, leaning on the wall of her little isolation room, crossing his arms over his chest. “Tony made you something. With Loki’s help, of all people. Tony hates magic, and doesn’t believe that it’s really a thing, and yet he’s made something that is basically… very magical. It’s great. He’s also got you a job.”

“A… job?” The teenager looked bewildered.

“Yeah. So. Basically, what we’ve been able to decide is that it’s actually sort of _awesome_ that you have the ability to grow inside girl parts in people. Think about it. There are tons of people out there that _want_ what Clint has got right now, and they can’t get it because the doctors won’t let them get it, or because it’s pretty much impossible, or whatever reason. But all _you_ need to do is freak out a bunch in their presence, and they _get_ it. So I’ve been talking to a fertility treatment here in New York, one of the awesome ones that’s not in it for the money so much, they’re in it for the… actually helping people. You’re going to work for them, and you’ll be able to use your mutation for _good_.”

Kele slowly settled to sit on the end of her bed, eyes wide. “…you think that’ll actually work?”

“Why not?” Clint asked, sitting beside her, smiling at the teen. “Wouldn’t you rather you use your mutation for a _reason_ , instead of just… it happens around you?”

She let out a long breath. “Well… I mean… I like the idea of helping people… but Dr. McCoy said it’s not safe for me to be around everyone. I don’t mean to do it, but just being around me can apparently do this to people…”

“And _that_ ,” Tony said, brightly. “Is where I come in. We’ve got you place to live. Dampener. Kind of like this room is, but… less awful. More apartment.”

Kele laughed, softly. “Really?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded, with a bright grin. “And I made you… these.”

She blinked at him, and at the silver and blue bracelets he held. There was a soft blue glow, lines and patterns and whorls in the design of the otherwise simple bands. “And those are… what?”

“Dampeners.” Tony said, confidently, clearly proud of himself. “Put these on, and you can freak out all you want. Freak out on the _subway_ if you have to. But it’s not going to hurt anyone, and no one is going to have massive naked orgies around you as a result. It just shuts down your mutation for awhile. As long as you’re wearing these, you’ll be fine.”

“Really?” The girl breathed, eyes bright.

It was as though the world had just been offered to Kele on a silver platter. She’d spent the last decade knowing about her mutation and her influence and what it did to other people, and had simply expected that she would never be able to live among normal people. She would have to keep herself separate from them, away from them, so that she didn’t accidentally trigger her mutation by accident, and make people go wild around her. And even if she had managed to _not_ trigger the full active effects of her mutation, what if the secondary one, the one where her hormonal changes caused men to grow uteri, what if that happened anyway? She had been afraid that she would never have a normal life.

And suddenly, here was Tony Stark, with strange looking almost magical bracelets in his hands, offering her the world again.

“Really.” Tony promised, smiling at her.

She laughed, almost breathlessly, and held out her hands, eagerly. “Put them on me? Please?”

“Sure,” he nodded, and clicked them onto her wrists, lightly, as though they were a pair of handcuffs without chains – and they fit perfectly, as though they had shrunk to perfectly encompass her wrists. “Okay, if you want to take them off, you press these little circles here, and that will make them pop off. Got it?”

“Got it,” Kele nodded, eyes bright with tears.

“Hey… don’t cry, kiddo.” Clint looped his arm around the teenager’s shoulder, tugging her against his side, squeezing her lightly. “This is _good_ news.”

“They’re good tears.” She laughed, wiping at her face.

“Good.” He kissed the top of her head. “You deserve it, Kele.”

 

+++

 

This was an odd sort of thing, really. But who the hell else was he supposed to ask?

“How do you find out what unit a man served in?”

Steve looked up his newspaper, coffee mug almost at his lips as he considered Logan, seriously. “Well, that depends on the country, and what branch of the military he was in… and which war it was.”

“Second World War. Don’t know the country or the branch, but he parachuted into Nazi Germany at some point.” Logan slid reluctantly into the seat across the table from the other man.

“Vague details.” He frowned slightly, brows furrowed as he considered that. “What man?”

“Me.”

Surprised, Steve looked up at that, and said, warily, “You’re trying to find out what unit you served in, in the Second World War?”

Logan nodded, jaw grit.

“Oh.” He let out a long breath, running his hand through his hair. “Well. Actually, I can help out with that. I know what unit you served in, because I knew you.”

“You – “ He frowned, brows furrowed.

“I know I didn’t say anything before, and I probably should have said something earlier.” Steve held up a hand. “And I’m sorry about that. But you didn’t remember anything, and I didn’t want to try and push anything at you, it wouldn’t exactly be fair, so… I didn’t mention anything. But I knew you in World War Two, Logan. I served with you.”

Logan slumped back in his seat, brows furrowed as he gaped back at him.

“I’m sorry.” Steve said, again.

“What do you know about me?” He demanded, jaw tightly clenched.

“Not a lot.” Steve cleared his throat, shifting slightly on the seat, then took a deep breath. “I wish I knew more, because I’d love to give you more information. I know that you are having memory problems, and I’d love to be able to fill in the blanks, but I didn’t know a whole lot about you back them. I do know, though, that you were Canadian, in the Royal Canadian Air Force, that you served with the Howling Commandos, and that you went by James Logan Howlett back then.”

Logan let out a long breath. “That’s more than I had before.”

Folding up his newspaper, the Captain smiled faintly. “Can I ask why you wanted to know?”

“I have vague recollections of the war, and…” He cleared his throat as he shifted in his seat, arms crossed. “Clint keeps bugging me about whether or not I had a dress uniform. Wants to see it, if I had one.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Steve’s eyes widened in realization. “Gee. Well, Loki rather enjoys mine, too.”

Logan smirked.

Sheepishly, he squirmed a little where he sat, then admitted, finally, “Well, you know all of our uniforms are in the museum, right? Fury’s grandfather was the Sergeant Fury of the Howling Commandos, so SHIELD sort of set up a museum to honour them. All of our uniforms, on those awful mannequins that don’t actually look anything like us, maybe they’d let you take your dress uniform back. I mean, after all, it’s _yours_ , so you earned the right to wear it.”

“I’d have to prove who I was.” He pointed out, frowning. “And I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, well… I don’t have to prove who _I_ am, everyone already knows.” Steve grinned, and stood. “Come on. I’ll vouch for you.”

 

+++

 

Clint was having a shitty day, really, nursing a headache that just didn’t seem to want to go away, and as he got more and more pregnant, a backache that had him slumping down into bed more often than not, wishing that he could just _have_ this baby and be done with it for once and for all.

But when the door of his bedroom opened, and a perfectly dressed, neatly groomed man stepped in, his day got infinitely better all of a sudden.

Logan wore a carefully maintained suit, a deep blue with impeccably cut lines, medals glinting on his chest, embroidered patches with the word “CANADA” emblazoned on his shoulders. He wore a tie, and had brushed his hair carefully enough that he looked appropriately ‘dressed up’, like a man in a dress uniform was meant to look, ready to pass inspection. Logan smirked faintly when he realized that he had Clint’s gaze on him, and snapped to attention, lifting his jaw. “Lieutenant James Logan Howlett, at your service.”

“…holy shit, that’s hot.” Clint breathed, and squirmed forward, trying to get off the bed to get to him. “C’mere. I want to strip you out of that uniform so bad it hurts.”

Logan laughed, grinning, and stepped up to the bed, bending to kiss Clint, amused by the way that the other man grabbed his tie, and tried to tug him even closer – and hummed against the other’s lips.

 

+++

 

“I’m dying,” Clint groaned, arm thrown across his eyes, as he lay on the couch.

“You’re not _dying_.” Pepper said, lightly, but she was still sitting on the end of the couch beside his head, and her fingers were still carding lightly through his hair. He had never been _terribly_ close to Pepper Potts, before all of this, but she was a powerful woman – in a sort of badass way – and he considered her a friend. She could control a company with nothing more than her mind, and she was damn good at it. Control of Starktech, and god, she was practically in control of the Avengers. Wasn’t officially one of them, and didn’t fight evil alongside them, but she was the glue that kept them together a lot of the time. And she knew more about their villains than Clint was pretty sure _he_ knew. Funny, he thought, as she gently rubbed his scalp, the circumstances they lived under. “You just have a headache. That’s not so bad.”

“No, I think I’m dying.” He argued. “My head is _killing_ me, and everything looks weird.”

Pepper hesitated, her fingers stilling in his hair for a moment, and she said, warily, “Everything looks weird?”

“Yeah.” Clint grunted, shifting as he tried to sit up, and gave up a moment later, just letting his arm flop off his eyes and land beside him on the couch. “Everything’s all fuzzy and... there are spots floating everywhere, and… I don’t feel very good, Pepper.”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip, frowning slightly. “Gimme a second.”

“Yeah, sure.” He murmured, reaching up to rub his chest, over his heart, wincing. “Take all the seconds you need.”

Pepper darted away, and he sighed, turning his head to look at the tv playing on the wall.

“JARVIS?” He called, quietly, wincing as he shifted up a little further on the bed. “Can you pull up the security footage of what the Avengers are doing right now?” He’d asked for this, several times before, since he’d been “sidelined” because of his health and the health of the baby. Pretty much, if he was available to do so at the time, JARVIS would provide Clint with video and audio footage of whatever the Avengers were doing, letting him feel like he was part of the whole situation. It was a huge relief, to have the connection.

“I’m afraid there is no security footage at the moment, Master Barton. Would the footage from the Iron Man helmet do?” The AI answered.

Clint snorted, and shrugged. “Sure, that will work for me. I can’t even see the damn thing right now, it’s so… it’s _glowy_. But yeah, sure. That will work perfectly. I’d love to hear how it’s going.”

“Of course, Master Barton.”

The tv channel changed, and Clint was suddenly sort of grateful for the fact that the whole world was bright and blurry right now, because otherwise he was pretty sure that the footage that JARVIS was currently showing him would have made him motion sick. It seemed to jump and jar, and he groaned, trying to prevent his already painful headache getting worse by just closing his eyes. He could listen, that would work. Tony was giving some kind of ridiculous narration about what the Captain was doing, apparently amused by the way that he was swinging at the illusions that Amora had created for them to combat.

Laying there, feeling sort of sorry for himself and rubbing his sore chest, Clint listened to the Avengers chatter, relieved by their voices. If he could hear them talking, that meant that they were okay.

Jan howled her amusement over the headsets, joined by a ridiculously whooping Johnny. They were _happy_ to be fighting, happy to be doing battle. He knew the feeling, and he _missed_ the feeling. If Clint had the chance, he’d be out there with them, howling about how idiotic they were, about how if Tony would just give him a _hand_ , he could maybe actually hit some of the targets…

“Clint!”

“Nnngh.” He groaned, softly, forcing his eyes open. Pepper’s face sort of swam in his vision, a halo of light around her, and he murmured, “…what’s wrong?”

“Did you try to get up?” She asked, her perfectly manicured hands light on his jaw, fear on her pretty face.

“No… I’m watching the video…” Clint murmured, trying to sit up, and giving up within seconds. Bad idea. Very bad idea. “JARVIS was playing it for me…”

“Actually, Master Barton, I called for Miss Potts.” JARVIS said, voice surprisingly gentle for an AI. “When you began to convulse, I didn’t know what else to do, under the circumstances. Well, aside from falling for Doctors McCoy and Richards, who are both on their way, now.”

“…convulsing?” He repeated, confused.

“You’re on the floor, Clint,” Pepper said, gently, stroking his jaw gently. “You fell off of the couch.”

“…I am?” He blinked, even more bewildered, now. Looking around, he realized that she was, in fact, correct. He was laying on the rug, the blanket that he’d been covered with sort of twisted around his legs, and this was very bizarre. “Why the fuck am I on the floor?”

“I was checking the books, actually.” She smiled faintly at him, still stroking his jaw. Was Pepper trying to calm him down? “It sounds like preeclampsia, Clint.”

He gaped at her. Bruce had sat him down, and explained every possible bad thing that _could_ happen during a pregnancy, but had assured him that preeclampsia probably wasn’t going to happen, because he wasn’t actually a woman.

But then, Bruce had also told him that his uterus wasn’t viable, and he couldn’t get pregnant.

“That one was really bad, right?” He asked, brows furrowed.

“Yeah.” Pepper nodded. “Especially if you have a seizure.”

“Which I just did.” Clint took a deep breath, closing his eyes again. Everything was so bright right now, it was making the headache even worse. “I need to get to the lab, Pep.”

“No.” She said, firmly. “Hank and Richard will be here soon. They’ll get you there. Don’t strain yourself.”

“Of course this is happening while the others are gone, too,” he groaned, frustrated.

“Miss Potts!” A voice called, loudly, and there were the thundering sounds of footsteps in the hallway. Reed Richard’s head appeared in the room first, followed a moment later by a hurrying Hank McCoy, then the rest of Reed. “Oh thank god, there you are.”

“He had a seizure,” Pepper said, instead of a proper greeting.

“Oh, my stars and garters, that’s not good.” Hank said, and hesitated before he darted forward to carefully lift Clint off of the floor.

Clutching at the doctor’s jacket lapels, Clint winced, knuckles white as he held on, tightly. “I’m not dying, am I?”

“Not if we can help it,” Reed said, firmly, leading the way into the hallway.

Everything seemed to be a frenzied flurry of movement, then, chaos and action and confusion, and Clint decided that at the moment, he was perfectly content to grip Pepper’s hand, tightly, as he lay on the operating table – in case they needed surgery, he was already there – and tried not to understand what exactly the pair of doctors were working on. They kept talking to each other with big words and hurried phrases and that he was sure _he_ didn’t understand, and the two of them looked… _worried_. Anxious. That didn’t really bode well.

“Okay, seriously.” Clint said, loudly, hating how he felt out of the loop, hating how he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, properly, hating how all he could taste in the back of his throat was bile. “Am I dying after all?”

It was Hank that hurried back to his side, as Reed worked on something else off to the side. “Clint, I’m not going to lie to you.”

“The phrase ‘I’m not going to lie to you’ never bodes well.” He reminded him.

“Yes, I know.” Hank smiled faintly, big and blue and yet still managing to look comforting when he smiled like that. “The seizure wasn’t good. Your blood pressure is dangerously high, and your heart is beating _far_ too fast. We’re _very_ worried about your health right now, and the baby’s heartbeat is… fast. The baby appears to be in distress.”

Clint’s heart clenched. “What does that mean?”

“That means we need to operate, and we need to do it _now_.” Hank said, smiling crookedly.

“But – it’s only thirty seven weeks.” He said, alarmed, trying to sit up, and not seeming to able to find the strength to do so – even if Hank hadn’t been holding him down. “Bruce said he wanted to get as close to forty-one weeks as he could, to make sure that we’d both have the best chance…”

“And that was before you started having seizures, Clint.” Hank squeezed his shoulder, gently, and said, “We’re going to prep you for surgery, now. We need to get the baby.”

“But – but they’re on _a mission_!” Clint protested, squeezing Pepper’s hand even tighter.

“We can’t wait for Bruce.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about _Bruce_!” He yelped, then winced, drawing in a sharp breath. “Oh… oh… that hurts.”

“Dr. Richards!” Hank called, sounding alarmed.

Clint slumped back in the bed, breathing hard, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Yeah, okay, do the surgery. Shit. Don’t let us die, doc.”

“Never.”

 

+++

 

The Avengers were riding a rather pleasant high, having chased off Amora for another day, having done their job, and done it well, and everything seemed rather wonderful – until JARVIS came over all of their headsets and asked, very politely, could Dr. Banner and Master Logan get back to the mansion immediately, please, they were needed. Desperately.

Logan genuinely had no idea, later, if any of the other Avengers had arrived back in the mansion, or if any of the munchkins were running around like they normally were. All he knew was that he had to get to the lab, and when he burst through the door, he found himself being stopped by Pepper Potts of all people.

“Out of my _way_ ,” he snarled, hands curled into tight fists. A clear threat.

“Calm down, Logan.” She said, firmly, pressing her tiny hands firmly against his heaving chest. “You’re not going to be any good to Clint like this. You need to take a deep breath, understand?”

“I’m _fine_ , where is Clint?” He demanded, teeth bared in a snarl. He didn’t care if Pepper was generally considered to be a badass, right now, he had something completely different on his mind, something else he needed to do. He needed to find the man, _now_.

“Well, we’re in the lab, that should explain – “

She was interrupted, oddly, by a completely different sound.

High pitched, cutting through the sounds he could hear of beeping and machinery and JARVIS apparently keeping a running commentary of whatever was happening, there came the rather unmistakable cries of a baby.

Pepper froze, and twisted to look back at the flurry of motion behind them. “ _Oh_.”

Logan darted past her, hurrying forward, almost frenzied. He had to get there, had to reach the doctors, the infant, the man that had carried the infant…

That was a _lot_ of blood.

“What is going _on_?!” He demanded, more of a roar than of a question, already alarmed by the blood, but growing increasingly so when there was suddenly a change in the beeping around the room, it growing faster and more frenzied. “McCoy! What is _happening_?!”

“Logan.” The massive blue doctor, dressed in a bloody lab coat, holding a vague blanket wrapped bundle, looked at him with wide eyes behind those tiny glasses. “Logan, I – take the child.”

“That is not an answer!” He bellowed – but took the little flannel wrapped bundle when the doctor abruptly thrust it into his arms. “What is going on?!”

“We need to work!” Reed barked. “Logan, I appreciate your concern, but if you do not want Clint to die, then let us _work_. Take the child, and go _out_ , please. Let us keep him alive.”

“I am not going to – “

The beeping abruptly sped up – then changed, into a single long solid howling, yowling, _terrifying_ beep.

“Get me the crash cart!” Reed bellowed.

“Go,” Hank said, almost feverishly – but he was already darting to get the crash cart.

 

+++

 

Logan sat on a window seat on the third floor of the Avenger’s mansion, holding a flannel blanket wrapped baby in his arms, staring out at absolutely nothing.

He felt numb.

These window seats weren’t really used around here, in a house full of superheroes, if it didn’t have an immediate purpose, it wasn’t really used for a whole lot. They had probably been built when the house was new, meant to be used by whatever wealthy family that had once upon a time made this their home, but now they sat usually empty, and there Logan sat, holding a baby that sometimes screamed and sometimes didn’t, looking and feeling completely lost.

Clint was dying. Possibly _had_ died. He knew what the beep meant, he wasn’t an idiot, he knew that was a heart monitor reporting that the heart it was monitoring wasn’t beating. He should be _doing_ something about it. Anything.

He could offer blood, maybe his blood would work. Hell, maybe his healing factor would help.

Or it could make it far worse, he’d never given blood before.

What did he _do_? Logan hated having nothing to do, hated that he couldn’t charge into battle and take out something, find something to kill.

So he sat there, holding a little bundle, _numb_.

The infant made a faint gurgling sound, and he started, alarmed. Clint was already dying in the lab, god, if the _baby_ was dying…

Logan shifted the blankets back, quickly, looking down at the infant’s bloody face. The feared reaction wasn’t there, the child _wasn’t_ choking on their own blood, or gagging on uncleaned up fluids, or something. The baby looked fine, though covered in blood, now dried on the skin. The infant’s eyes were open, looking up at him, startlingly bright and blue, and his breath caught, surprised.

The baby gurgled again, a tiny hand reaching up towards him.

He swallowed, thickly, and offered the little child his finger. Tiny fingers curled around his, with a startlingly tight grip, and the baby gurgled again.

“Hey,” he murmured, gently, watching the infant. Shifting the little bundle, awkwardly, he began cleaning off the dried blood with the corner of the blanket the child was wrapped in. “Hey, beautiful. Your daddy’s going to be fine, okay? The docs are gonna fix him right up, and then… you’re gonna make our lives hell, right?”

The infant just blinked up at him, big blue eyes innocent.

“Yeah. He’s gotta be fine, because I hate talking for him.” Logan muttered, and shifted the little blanket bundle up to press his lips to his child’s forehead. “He’s gonna be fine.”

 

+++

 

Clint died on the table.

+++

 

“Did anyone get the license plate of the Mac truck that hit me?” Clint croaked, as he fought to open his eyes.

“Richards, Reed. With shock paddles. And a few needles full of adrenaline.” Natasha said, lightly, and Clint rolled his head heavily to the side so that he could look up at the woman, who was standing just to the side of his bed, smiling down at him. She looked content and sort of angelic, which made Clint snort – even though that hurt his chest – and roll his eyes.

“Are you actually wearing a dress?” He rasped, sipping gratefully at the water when she held the glass to his lips.

“Mmm. As it happens, I am. I’m supposed to be going out to a party, for the Stark Expo.”

Clint took a deep breath, then squirmed up in his bed, carefully, realizing that he was back in his bedroom in the Avenger’s mansion. Well, at least it wasn’t the science lab, anymore. That was a good start. Leaning on his pillows, he said, “I thought that was like, supposed to be in a month.”

Natasha smiled faintly, and set the glass of water down on the bedside table, gently. “It was.”

“…so why is Stark Expo suddenly _now_?” Clint frowned, crinkling his nose. His mouth tasted _disgusting_ , like he hadn’t brushed his teeth properly in days.

“Because you’ve been unconscious for almost a month.” She said, gently, settling on the edge of his bed.

“…what?”

That wasn’t actually possible, was it? Wouldn’t his muscles be atrophied, and wouldn’t they have tried to wake him up, or something? He didn’t feel like a man that had been in a coma for a _month_. And if he was in a coma for a month, wouldn’t he be in the hospital or something, wired to a million pieces of machinery and wires?

“You’ve woken up a couple times… Bruce said you might remember, you might not. You didn’t make a lot of sense the times you _did_ wake up.” Natasha smiled faintly, reaching up to play with his hair. “Finally, they decided you just needed time to heal, so they moved you here, instead of keeping you in the lab. You’ve been doing all right, all things considered. JARVIS has been keeping an eye.”

“And it has been my pleasure, Master Barton,” the AI said, and Clint imagined an old man giving one of those old man butler bows.

“Oh.” He reached up to rub at his eyes, and blinked. “…oh. Still on an IV, huh?”

“Well, we figured you wouldn’t be into a feeding tube.” Natasha said, with a bit of a smirk.

“Ugh.” Clint groaned. “No.”

The redhead laughed softly.

“What happened, anyway?” He asked, running his hand through his hair, running his tongue across the front of his teeth, considering the merits of just running for the bathroom right now, to get his teeth brushed.

“How much do you remember?” She settled on the edge of his bed, looking down at him. “Pepper says you had a seizure, they had to rush you right into surgery.”

“Yeah, I remember that…” Clint squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering. “Yeah, I remember that. The baby…?”

He was almost afraid that he didn’t want to know. He’d spent months carrying an unborn child around in his body, keeping them alive through all the possible problems, forced to sit on the side-lines just to make sure that neither of them died, he’d been reluctant to do it, but he _had_ , and if this didn’t work, if it had all been for nothing… he’d known it was _risky_ , but…

“Hold on.” She squeezed his shoulder, and slipped out of the room.

Clint blinked at the door as it swung shut behind her, and yelped, “That doesn’t answer the question, Natasha!”

And he panicked, as he lay there. Thinking of all of the awful things that might be about to happen, that the reason that she wasn’t telling him was because she didn’t know how to explain that the baby was dead, though god, if anyone should be able to tell him that someone is dead, you’d think it was the badass Natasha, cold and calculated when she needed to be, but… Swallowing hard around the lump in his throat, Clint clipped off his IV, and carefully pulled the needle free of his arm with a flinch. He swung his feet off of the bed, and sat up, about to stand when the door opened.

It wasn’t Natasha that stepped into the room.

It was Logan, dressed in his usual denim and plaid, with a wriggling little form in his arms. The wild man smirked, and stepped closer to the bed. “Long time no see.”

“Logan.” He breathed, but his eyes were on the little shape Logan carried, head bobbling a little as the baby tried to look around, sucking on chubby fingers. “Oh my god, is that…?”

“Yep.” He settled on the edge of the bed, beside Clint, baby on his lap, one of his hands cradling the back of the downy-haired head. “Robin Francis Barton.”

“There should probably be a Logan in there, somewhere,” Clint murmured, but his attention was on the baby, who looked up at him with wide blue eyes, gurgling slightly as her chubby fingers reached out towards him. “Is she all right?”

“Perfect,” Logan said, then shifted slightly. “Sit back.”

He did as ordered, squirming back quickly on the bed, leaning against the pillows. Licking his suddenly dry lips, Clint watched as Logan shifted closer, and obediently adjusted his arms so that the other could lay Robin against his chest. She wriggled, kicking at his chest as though she was trying to crawl but didn’t quite know how, and she gurgled again as her tiny fingers curled tightly around the collar of his shirt. “Oh my god, she really _is_ perfect.”

“Sorry I had to name her, but you were sort of unconscious most of the time.” He shrugged.

“Yeah, no… that’s actually a pretty good name.” Clint said, lightly, brushing his fingertips lightly over Robin’s soft head. “How the hell did you figure out my middle name?”

“I asked Coulson.” Logan didn’t look phased – but he shifted up on the bed, laying beside Clint, slowly, reaching up to set his hand against Robin’s back. The little girl wriggled, blue eyes bright as they focused on Logan, and let out a cooing giggle sound. Happy.

“She likes you more than me,” Clint murmured.

“You’ve been sleeping most the time.” He pointed out. “She’s spent a lot of time with you, though.”

“…really?” He blinked at Logan, frowning. “That must not have been very exciting.”

“We weren’t doing it for excitement.” Logan said, eyes on Clint, whose eyes were on Robin, whose eyes couldn’t seem if they ought to focus on Clint or Logan and so the little girl looked between the both of them. “Kid needed her dad.”

“You’re her dad, remember?” Clint pointed out, laughing when she clutched at his fingers.

“Yeah, well… so are you.”

He glanced up from Robin’s blue eyes, slowly, meeting Logan’s. “…thanks for sticking around, Logan.”

The other shrugged. “Can’t make a baby on your own.”

“Hey, I’m trying to have some emotions here, let’s try not to make it trivial, huh?” Clint laughed, slightly flushed, and shifted up to press his lips firmly to Logan’s. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Logan shrugged, as though that really said it all.

Suppose it did.

 

+++

 

EPILOGUE

 

“Robin Francis Logan Barton…” Clint growled, marching into the living room, with a titanium arrow in hand. “ _This_ just punched straight through the wood of my bedroom door. Have _any_ idea how exactly that might have happened?”

The girl looked up slowly from the magazine that she was completely innocently flicking through – and of course she read magazines upside down, why would she ever want to read a magazine the right way up? – and smiled up at him, big blue eyes innocent and sweet. “Of course not, daddy. How could that have happened?”

“Funny. You only call me _daddy_ when you want something or you’re feeling extremely guilty.” Clint rolled his eyes, and held the arrow towards her.

“…Cherry gave me the impression that dads are far easier to manipulate than you are.” Robin huffed, grumpily, but took the arrow back anyway, sitting up. “Dad’s easier than you are.”

“That’s because your dad is a pushover,” he smirked, ruffling her hair. “Was a good shot though, by the way. Which bow did you use to do that?”

“The new one Uncle Tony made for me,” she perked up a little, grinning now. “The titanium one, with the one fifty drawback. It’s got some real power. I ah… okay, I was going to say that I wasn’t actually trying to shoot, but I was, I just didn’t think that it was going to actually punch through the _door_. Either the door isn’t strong enough, or the bow is _really_ awesome.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Brat.”

She pouted up at him, all sweet and innocent again. “I’m not a brat, daddy…”

“Yes you are,” Logan said, as he stepped into the room, but he still ruffled her hair as he walked past her towards the kitchen, ignoring her yelp of protest.

Clint snickered, flopping down on the couch, relaxing. “But that’s all right, Robin, being a brat isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Of course it is,” she rolled her eyes, and clambered up onto the couch, curling up to Clint’s side, resting her head against his rib cage as she snuggled up to her father, closing her eyes. “You call me a brat every time I act up, therefore it must be a bad thing, but… doesn’t make much of a difference, anyway. You’re still stuck with me.”

“We aren’t _stuck_ with you, we chose you.” Clint kissed the top of her head.

“Yeah, yeah,” she hummed, relaxed.

“Shove over.” Logan said, as he stepped up to the couch, expecting the pair of them to shift over so that Logan could sit on Clint’s other side – and within moments, the pair of them did, used to it. Logan slumped down beside Clint, curling his arm around the other’s shoulder enough that he could actually card his fingers through Robin’s hair, the three of them curled together on the couch.

It was silent for a long few moments – then Robin piped up, cheekily, “So if you chose me, can you choose to give me a sister and a brother, too?”

And she grinned broadly when they both groaned heavily in response to that.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to apologize for how long it took for this story to finally be posted! I started writing it last April, mere hours after finishing "No Man is Complete", but it has taken until now to get it published. It's not an excuse, but unfortunately the past year has been very bad for me, in terms of my anxiety, and my writing is one the things that suffered the most.
> 
> I'm going to try to keep from taking this long ever again. Thank you, dear readers, for sticking with me. I don't know what I'd do without you.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, for those that are curious, I actually drew Logan in his dress uniform. Couldn't find a picture of this anywhere on the internet, so I made one myself! [Dress Blues](http://sparrowshellcat.tumblr.com/post/57218307598/so-i-tried-to-finally-draw-logan-james-howlett)


End file.
